


Heart of a Lion

by caxton



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Endgame Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, F/M, Fix-It, Jaime Lannister Lives, Knight Brienne of Tarth, Season/Series 08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:00:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 64,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23700454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caxton/pseuds/caxton
Summary: He knew this was suicide one way or another but, for once in his life, the kingslayer, the man without honour, intended to uphold his vows as a knight, if not for himself but for Brienne of Tarth.--Promised myself I'd rewrite Season 8 when the Red Keep fell on him, so here's my version of Jaime's journey to Winterfell and beyond.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister & Tyrion Lannister, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Sansa Stark & Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 117
Kudos: 160





	1. To Winterfell

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!  
> So this is my first venture into writing fanfic and I'm under no illusion that anyone other than myself is going to enjoy it, but I felt so strongly about the disaster that was S8 that I had to write my own version of events!
> 
> As I said, I'm new to all this so please be kind when reading; I'm not doing it for anything other than the enjoyment I have for writing and the love I have for Jaime and Brienne!  
> Please bear with it; I think my writing improves as the story develops.  
> Hope you enjoy!!

The North was as blindingly white as he remembered, but distant memories of a trip to Winterfell many, many moons ago did little justice to the piercing, icy chill in the air. Instinctively, Jaime Lannister shifted his weight on his black destrier to allow himself to reach out with his remaining hand to tighten the old, worn cloak about his shoulders, silently damning himself once again for packing nothing warmer in his haste to depart King’s Landing. But, alas, he had not had the time. Although he knew Cersei better than anybody ever would, better than he knew himself, he had not been prepared for this.

The dead were coming. Monarchy, family, loyalty – none of that should have mattered. The truth was that they were all to die, from the small northern townsfolk to the most powerful, wealthiest families in Westeros. Death would not discriminate; they were all at risk. Cersei, however, the woman he had known for as long as he had existed, an extension of himself, had failed to accept this new reality. She had reneged on her word to send her men to fight this doomed fight and, finally, Jaime had broken free from her toxicity. But, whilst he was proud of himself for forging his own path and committing his service to fighting for the living, he knew the credit lay with his old companion, the maid of Tarth.

_Fuck loyalty._

Her words had taken him aback at the time, even now if he was honest, but he knew she was right. The most honourable woman he had ever met, loyal to the bone, but even she would forsake her vows should it mean fulfilling a greater justice. Jaime had been so astounded at the time that he had marched away from her without a second glance, and he had experienced guilt ever since. Truth be told, he had felt a lot of things since. Heartbreak and betrayal at the hands of Cersei: the woman he had loved most in this world had cruelly threatened death at the hands of The Mountain and he knew he could not forgive her this time. Consequently, he felt confusion and he felt abandoned. He felt a sense of independence he had never known, having been Cersei’s for as long as he had lived. Most of all, though, Jaime felt fear. Not only had he committed treason (and not for the first time), but he was riding to fight a surely unwinnable fight.

Though he feared not death itself, he feared the fight. He feared the battle, well aware that his left hand was no substitute for his once-famed swordhand, and he feared the pain of wounds he had yet to receive prior to his certain death. He feared his arrival at Winterfell, looming ever closer, only to be sentenced to death within minutes by the dragon queen for a crime he had long-since been pardoned for. Overriding all other fears, though, Jaime Lannister felt all but paralysed whenever he pondered the fate of Brienne of Tarth. He knew they were all like to die, but the thought of her magnificent, sapphire eyes closing for good pained him more than any wound he had suffered – and he had had a hand severed.

Conversely, he feared survival. He feared that the nigh impossible chance they might come out as victors would encourage him to explore feelings that he was not yet ready to accept, and certainly not ready to act upon. It would be selfish of him to express his unrequited interest to Lady Brienne, not least because he had yet to establish where exactly such interest lay. He would always be unworthy of such a woman’s love, and, still, he feared that upon seeing him again, she would finally see him through the rest of the kingdom’s eyes: a kingslayer. He feared being shunned by her on arrival; after all, he had rushed back to Cersei’s side with nary a second glance the last time they had met, nor could he muster a farewell, and that was unforgivable.

These thoughts and fears had been the only company Jaime had had on his lone journey across Westeros, but he found that thinking helped pass the time faster than he would have liked and he found himself approaching Winterfell much sooner than he had expected. Much sooner than he was ready. He wondered how he might announce his arrival, how he would present his case. The frigid chill in the air was one thing, but he knew the reception awaiting him in the halls of Winterfell would be much frostier, and a shiver naught to do with the cold crawled up his spine in anxious anticipation.

He knew this was suicide one way or another, but, for once in his life, the kingslayer, the man without honour, intended to uphold his vows as a knight, if not for himself but for Brienne of Tarth. He had finally regained his agency. He was finally free to act as he wished. He was finally prepared to meet the death he knew he so deserved.


	2. Arrival

With the formidable gates of Winterfell looming ever closer, Ser Jaime Lannister slowed his horse to a canter, while his heartrate spiked tenfold. He had known all along what would await him in the North, but only now did he contemplate the likelihood of his imminent death. Perhaps he had been a fool to have even entertained the idea he might survive to fight against the dead. Nonetheless, he accepted his fate, whatever it should be. He’d been ready to die for a long time if he was being honest with himself, all the way back to the bearpit in Harrenhal, and the personal journey that he’d been on ever since he had reconciled this acceptance of death with his gods had led him here, right now. And this was where he was supposed to be. He trusted the gods to forge whatever future he deserved. He merely regretted being his stubborn self back at the dragonpit, and so he silently prayed that his northern hosts would allow him the chance to present his case justly, in the hope that he might get one last chance to personally apologise to the maid of Tarth.

Snow became ice, and ice became gravel, and soon Jaime Lannister found himself at his destination. Lowering his hood, he waited as the two guardsmen at the gates of Winterfell approached him atop his horse with apprehension, before he saw recognition flash in their eyes.

“What do you think _you’re_ playing at, Lannister?” said the shorter of the two, gripping his sword tighter as he spoke. “Traitors and liars ain’t welcome in these parts.”

“I’ve come to seek an audience with the dragon queen. I ask only to be heard,” Jaime uttered much more calmly than he felt. The two guards looked at each other before the shorter of the two shrugged and again resumed speaking.

“Where’s the rest of your army, then? What is this? A one-man crusade? Don’t make me laugh. A one-handed, has-been knight requesting an audience with the queen at a time like this? You’re far too bold. I’ll let you in, but only because I want to witness the look on your cocky face when she sentences you to death to avenge her father. Gods, I know I wouldn’t have come here in your position! It’d be easier, and probably less painful, to hang yourself!”

“I’m well aware of my circumstances, but I promised to fight for the living and I intend to offer my services even if it be the last thing I do. I don’t plan on surviving.” Ser Jaime looked at the guards one at a time before the second guard made a gesture towards the tower on the right flank.

“Stay there and we’ll fetch someone. Don’t try anything funny,” he warned before the pair of them made their way back towards the slowly opening gates and through them.

Jaime was unsure as to what he could do at this moment in time that would even hint at humour, but still he sat atop his horse in case his dismount might be taken as a threat. He found himself absentmindedly watching the snow swirl around him and, before long, the taller of the two guards approached him once more.

“Alright. Get off that thing and follow me. You’ll have to stay with it in the stables for now but be lucky you’re getting such an agreeable welcome.” The guard turned his back and began walking, and soon Ser Jaime was walking within the walls of Winterfell for the first time in many years. “I’ve announced your arrival and they’re arranging something; I don’t know what, but someone will be down for you shortly. Now get in there and let that bloody horse drink, for gods’ sake.”

“Thank you”, muttered Jaime, surprised by this kindness. He had not expected anything for his horse, having turned up unexpected and unwanted. The guard nodded, grunted, and then left the stall, locking the door behind him. Jaime’s horse had already found, and was helping itself to, the water in the trough, and Jaime found himself lowering onto the haystack behind him, thankful for a surface to sit on other than that god-awful saddle he’d had to endure for the past few weeks. He leant forward, left hand outstretched, and scooped up as much water as one hand allowed in an attempt to wash his face. He had not had the means to maintain his usually prideful appearance on his journey north, and so his facial hair had grown longer and more unruly than ever, although this did not bother him in the slightest.

He once again pondered the life he had lived before this one: the golden lion. His first stay at Winterfell had been as a guest; he had not had the warmest reception even then, but, then again, he came as a byproduct of the then King Robert Baratheon’s marriage to Cersei. He had been proud, unfathomably full of himself, and the best swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms. _And what am I now?_ Jaime thought to himself. _A one-handed waste of space. I’m neither a valuable addition to this army, nor a welcomed guest. The gods alone know what will happen when I’m called for_.

Time passed Jaime by as he brushed his horse to keep himself occupied, and, before long, he heard the jingling of keys and the buckle on the stall door creaked before it slowly opened to reveal the bastard Jon Snow. “I hear they call you the Warden of the North now,” Jaime spoke, raising his eyebrows as they locked eyes.

“I hear they’re still calling you kingslayer, oathbreaker, traitor… I could go on,” replied Snow derisively. “You’d do well to keep that mouth of yours shut if you wish to stay alive.” He took a good look at the unwashed, unkempt state of the man before him and, for the first time, actually pitied him. “Now, I don’t know why you thought this would be a good idea, but you know what’s coming your way, surely? This is suicide, Lannister. You killed her father. I’m not fully sure what your intentions are but I think forgiveness is long since off the table.”

“I’m familiar with my past deeds, thank you very much, _bastard_. But I haven’t come for forgiveness, I’ve come to pledge my service. If I’m sentenced to death beforehand, at least I’ll die knowing I tried to do the just thing,” Jaime explained sourly, not particularly pleased with the look of pity in Snow’s eyes.

“I didn’t think you a man of justice. You forsook your knightly vows a long time ago, is this all a last-gasp attempt to redeem yourself in front of your gods? I think you might have left it too late for that now,” Snow sneered.

“Look. I’m not here for forgiveness, nor am I here for redemption. I’m here because it’s the right thing to do, and I owe it to myself to fight as I said I would. Turn me away, burn me in dragonfire, but first give me the chance to speak up for myself. I might not be much of a fighter anymore, but my knowledge of battle could be beneficial if nothing else. I’ve nothing to offer but my allegiance, but you need _every_ _man_ you can get.” Jaime noticed a look of resignation in the bastard’s eyes as he reminded him that the living were very much the underdogs in the upcoming battle.

“We need every man, but we don’t necessarily need a traitorous lion. Daenerys will oblige you with a trial, but let it be known that, had it been my father you slaughtered, I would not have been so compliant.”

“It’s a good thing my nephew beat me to it then, isn’t it? And a good thing you’ll never be king,” Jaime mocked. As the reality of his situation dawned on him, he adjusted his tone to appeal to the warden’s better nature. “I don’t want to get into this petty back and forth with you or anybody. We’re fighting for the same cause and I’m thankful for even the little hospitality I have already, undeservedly, received here. Can’t we put our past differences behind us like men and move on?”

Jon Snow sighed before replying, “I suppose we’re just wasting valuable time while arguing about a past life. Neither of us are who we used to be. Come on, they should be ready for you now.”

“They?” Jaime enquired.

“Did you think it would be a private audience with just Daenerys and I? Not at all. The queen has assembled all our leaders in battle, so be thankful you have a jury. They might just be the difference between your life and your death.”

“Who exactly are we talking about?” Jaime tried to sound innocent, though he was desperate to hear one name in particular.

“If you’re wondering about your brother then you’re in luck, you’ll see him very soon. There’ll also be myself, Ser Jorah Mormont, a few unsullied, couple of Dothraki warriors, you wouldn’t know them by name, Theon Greyjoy. My sister’s also championed her protector the maid of Tarth to lead a group. We have the Boltons, Karstarks, some wildlings, Sandor Clegane… there’ll be more than those at your trial, but they’re our best fighters, our best chance of winning this thing” Jon Snow said, although Jaime had stopped listening at the mention of Brienne.

“Rightly so,” he agreed, experiencing mild palpitations at the thought of facing her again so soon. He huffed deeply as he stood, straightened himself up, lightly brushed off his cloak and began to follow Jon Snow to his fate.

***

The walk to the Great Hall where he’d been informed the judging throng would await him seemed to take an age, and yet no time at all seemed to have elapsed. The kingslayer was ready to face the music, but the closer he got to the iron-cast oak doors at the end of the corridor, the more he held back. He waited so that Jon Snow could walk in before him, beginning to embrace the role of the willing prisoner he now was. Snow nodded at the guardsman who stood by the doors, who in turn stepped forward to take Ser Jaime’s sword. Snow then turned to Jaime, raised an eyebrow to which Jaime nodded, and then turned back before heading through the doors.

Ser Jaime took a deep breath and set foot into the room, causing heads to turn in his direction immediately. Within seconds, he was overwhelmed by the volume of slurs in his direction.

_Kingslayer! Sister-fucker! Oathbreaker! Traitor! Scum! Dirty Lannister! Honourless shit!_

He was more than used to being taunted by people, but he suddenly felt an unease as he established his presence was less than welcome. He was naïve to have thought he might have been thanked for turning up alone. The only person he had been kidding was himself. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor, unwilling to make eye contact with anybody, and followed Jon Snow to the place where his fate would be sealed. Halfway through the room, however, Jaime caught sight of a familiar set of armour and an unmistakable scabbard hanging at the end of an aisle, and he looked up to see Brienne of Tarth’s furrowed brows.

Before he knew what he was doing, his golden hand was reaching out for something, for her perhaps, but he quickly prevented himself. Foolishly, he gave her an uncharacteristically awkward smile at her in apology. Jaime Lannister did not often act awkwardly, and he damned himself for choosing now to do so, especially when she responded with a vacant and unfamiliar stare. Dropping his head in embarrassment, he took a moment to compose himself before he found himself locked in her gaze again, breathlessly muttering her name.

“Brienne”.

The guardsman, who had followed them into the room, pushed Jaime in the back to force him to continue, but Jaime could have sworn he heard Brienne sharply intake a breath as soon as he had his back to her.

At the front of the room, Snow motioned to a chair which had obviously been left for him, and Jaime awkwardly made his way towards it, very aware that all eyes were on him. He slowly turned to face the room, waiting for the dragon queen and the Stark girl to first take their seats before he followed suit. A moment of shuffling ensued as the guests at Winterfell took to their own seats, before a moment of silence followed. Jaime Lannister took a shaky breath as he watched as Queen Daenerys, whose violet eyes bore piercingly into his own, began to open her mouth to speak.


	3. Honour Compels Me

“Jaime Lannister. _Kingslayer_. You have some nerve,” spat Daenerys Targaryen as Jaime lowered his head, resigning himself to the fact he’d have to listen to her tirade before he would be given a chance to speak for himself. “Is this all Cersei had to offer? Her one-handed twin brother? I must have misinterpreted her when she pledged to send an army.” Jaime heard muffled sniggers echo around the hall.

He raised his head as he uttered, “I was not sent by my sister. She misled me as much as she misled you all. I am here of my own accord, here to fight for the living.”

Daenerys laughed quietly, menacingly. “And you think we have the need for a man like you? You might once have been famed as the best sword in the Seven Kingdoms, but I assure you you’ve long since lost that title.”

“I admit I’m not the fighter I used to be; my left hand is unquestionably an unworthy substitute for my right,” Jaime stated coolly. “But I have battle experience. As a fighter, I am useless, but my knowledge could be of great benefit to your army. I’m not saying I’m the key to victory; I’m not that obtuse. But don’t you need all the experience you can get? It’s our best chance at winning.”

“ _Our_ best chance at winning. You’re very presumptuous, kingslayer. What makes you think I’m willing to enlist you in my army? How can I trust you when you slaughtered my father?! He trusted you, but I will not make his mistake!” As Queen Daenerys spoke, her voice became louder. “How do I know this is no elaborate ploy of Cersei’s? For all I know, you could be here to scupper our chances! We all know how close you Lannister twins are; I wouldn’t put it past you to die for her cause.”

“No.” Jaime’s resolve was set. “I renounced Cersei as my queen the moment she revealed she was not to send an army after all. She has employed the Golden Company and has the fleet of Euron Greyjoy at her command, ready to defend her against whatever survivors there may be. Lest I wish to die, I can never return to King’s Landing.”

“So you came to save your own skin?” Sansa Stark spoke up for the first time. “Cersei would have killed you so you ran from her. I’m sorry to disappoint you, Ser Jaime, but you will receive no warm welcome in my home.”

Queen Daenerys looked irked by the Stark girl’s interruption, but she agreed with her sentiment. “Yes, I’m not sure what reception you expected to receive here, but it seems you’re not a very popular man in these parts, or elsewhere in the Seven Kingdoms for that matter.”

“This is a trial, and there are two sides to every trial. Now I wouldn’t hold your breath, but I need to open the floor to the rest of our guests here at Winterfell should they wish to speak in your favour. Would anybody like to share their feelings on the matter?” Sansa Stark enforced her authority as Lady of Winterfell. To nobody’s surprise, derogatory murmurings broke out throughout the hall.

“One at a time, please,” Queen Daenerys called over the noise.

“My Queen, if I may –” Tyrion Lannister stood, gaining no height as he did so.

Daenerys shot him a dirty look, “You may not.” Jaime tried to make eye contact with his brother but he had not looked in his direction at any point during the trial. Daenerys continued, “As the Queen’s Hand, I expected more from you as an advisor, particularly when it comes to family matters. It turns out you knew your sister very poorly, who could blame me for assuming you know your brother just as little?”

“I know my brother very well, my queen. It was he who I was always closer to, but I know where my word is not welcome. Know only this: he is an honest and a proud man. He would not come here alone if fighting for our cause was not his intention, and he certainly hasn’t come to plead forgiveness for past crimes. Please don’t base your decision on his past.” Tyrion finally looked at him, but all Jaime saw in his imp brother’s eyes was sorrow.

“His past has made him who he is today! If we could erase the past I’m sure every last person in this room would have wrongdoings they would wish to wipe away. Unfortunately, Tyrion, your word isn’t sufficient. He assaulted my father and made life for us Starks a misery, but now you wish for us to accommodate him because your sister has finally kicked him out of her bed?! I need concrete proof he is a changed man, or I have no reason to deny Daenerys her wish to have him executed,” Sansa proclaimed.

There was a moment of silence, during which Jaime Lannister accepted he was mere moments away from the death he had anticipated. _Better at the hands of a Targaryen than a Lannister_ , he thought to himself. He allowed himself one final glance towards Brienne before he was killed, and her sapphire-blue eyes penetrated his own softly, catching him off guard. They gazed at each other for a short moment, and he watched as a familiar look grew in her eyes. A look of steely resolve, of determination.

“Apologies, my lady, but I wish to speak a few words on behalf of Ser Jaime,” an uncharacteristically shaky Brienne of Tarth rose from her seat.

“Lady Brienne,” Sansa looked shocked. “By all means, please, proceed with what you have to say.”

Brienne took an unsteady breath and nodded, before continuing. “The Hand is right. Ser Jaime _is_ a good man, whose past misdeeds no longer become him. Both myself, and your own self, Lady Sansa, would likely not be standing here at Winterfell had it not been for his changed character. When I first met Ser Jaime, he was cruel and he was insolent, every bit the man you and Queen Daenerys have described. Your mother charged me to return him to King’s Landing and, at first, he was insufferably contrary.

“Along the way, we were taken captive by Roose Bolton’s men. Were it not for Ser Jaime, I would have no doubt been defiled by these men; he lost his hand to preserve my maidenhood. Shortly after he had been given leave to return to Cersei without me, he turned his captors around in order to save me from a bear, against which I was armed only with a wooden sword and otherwise sure to die. As shocked as I was to admit it back then, our time as captives together confirmed to me that he was a good, _truly honourable_ man. He opened up to me, and I came to believe that his every intention, while sometimes misled, was driven by loyalty.”

Brienne once again made eye contact with Jaime, during which she noticed a near-imperceptible smile appear slowly on his face, lighting up his green eyes. Embarrassed to have been caught looking at him, Brienne looked back towards Sansa. “Once I had safely returned him to King’s Landing, Ser Jaime had no reason to be kind to me, and yet he was. He sent me away to fulfil his vow to your mother, Lady Catelyn, that he would return you and your sister safely to Winterfell. Arming me with this,” Brienne grasped hold of Oathkeeper’s hilt, “a sword forged from your own father’s to protect you. He had the very armour I’m wearing made for me, and sent Podrick Payne to accompany me in order to ensure his vow was not broken. Were it not for Ser Jaime, I do not bear to think what might have happened to either of us, my lady.”

“Lady Brienne, I was not aware of the extent of your acquaintance with this man, but I trust in your judgement wholly. You think his intentions are honourable?” Sansa enquired.

“I know they are, my lady. He would not leave his sister to fight this unfightable fight if his heart was not in the right place. I trust that he is committed to our cause.” Brienne nodded her head, before retaking her seat.

Jaime felt a wave of affection for Brienne in that moment that he had never felt for anyone but Cersei, and not for a long time. He was, unexpectedly, a little peeved that she had brought up his fidelity to Cersei; a strange feeling unsettled his stomach as he accepted Brienne’s appraisal of his incestuous past. Still, she had stood up for him in a room full of adversaries, and he was overcome with gratitude.

Sansa Stark turned to face the dragon queen, asserting her dominance as Lady of Winterfell. “I have trusted Lady Brienne with my life on numerous occasions… I am choosing to do so again. As much as I detest his past actions, my mother was a good judge of character and would not have trusted a man such as Ser Jaime unless she saw him capable of loyalty and honour. I think we should allow him to stay.”

She turned to face him. “Today is your lucky day, Ser Jaime. You may fight alongside us, but don’t think that this changes the way I feel about you. You will be given a place to rest and food from our table, but we bestow no more privileges on you. As she vouched for you, you can serve under Lady Brienne’s command. It is up to her how she utilises your expertise.”

Jaime did not realise how tense his shoulders had been until he dropped them in relief upon being charged to Lady Brienne’s command. His eyes flitted first from Sansa Stark, to Daenerys Targaryen (who looked understandably vexed), to his visibly relieved brother, and finally to his champion, Brienne of Tarth. He nodded at her in thanks, to which she tersely nodded in response, somewhat unable to maintain eye contact.

“I think that will be all. Guard, you may once again arm Ser Jaime. The rest of you may resume your preparations.” Sansa stood as she discharged her guests from the room, causing them all to stand in response. The guard returned Widow’s Wail to him as, slowly, the room emptied. Jaime took a moment for himself to recompose himself in his stupor. When he was assured of himself once more, he looked up to see only one other person in the room. She was standing exactly where she had stood to vouch for him, only, this time, she looked as though she was ready to take flight.

“Lady Brienne,” Jaime murmured, taking a step in her direction.

She looked at him apprehensively before addressing him directly for the first time since they had argued at the dragonpit. “Ser Jaime, I – I’m glad you came.”

The pair looked at each other for a moment, neither knowing what to say to the other, before Brienne made a move to depart. Jaime Lannister watched her walk away from him, not for the first time, her arms swinging stiffly from her broad shoulders. He felt a fondness overcome him as her hand landed gently on Oathkeeper’s hilt just as she reached the door, and he knew that he would not, could not, leave her behind again.

_This time,_ he thought, _I’m not taking any chances.  
_


	4. Reunion

As he made his way to the room he had been directed to, Jaime Lannister pondered the words of Brienne of Tarth. He found it equally humorous and shameful to think back to how he had acted towards her when Catelyn Stark had first paired them up, but he felt that their dynamic back then was a necessary precursor to his change in character. Before Brienne, he had told nobody of his rightful intentions on that fateful day he slew his king. She had been the first to see him as a good man. The first to judge him as innocent.

He had been astounded to hear her account of their eventful hostage, particularly the way in which she described his actions as if he were the hero. At the time, jumping into the bearpit had not even been a decision, there had been no choice to make. There she had stood in all the glory of that abhorrent pink dress, armed with a flimsy, wooden sword, backing away from the bear; the least Jaime could do was try to help her, whether it was stupid or not. He had jumped without thinking. Losing his hand for her was one thing; he had not planned it. But jumping into that bearpit… well, it was that thoughtlessness that made him see himself in a somewhat different light. Perhaps he was not a good man, but he was at least a loyal man. His time with Brienne had helped him ease some of his self-hatred.

He knew within himself that he felt something new towards Brienne. Perhaps it wasn’t even new. He supposed he had felt it ever since the bearpit, but he had had no wish to acknowledge it. It was something he had never felt with Cersei. Something he was too afraid to act on, but he was okay with that. He was, however, concerned that he found himself worrying about what she had really meant when she had said she was glad he came. Perhaps it was ridiculous, but he was unsure what she had meant. To him, “I’m glad you came” significantly differed from “I’m glad you’re here”. He was annoyed to discover that he was mildly offended by the idea that she was simply pleased with his decision as opposed to being pleased to see him.

On his journey to Winterfell, he had thought about their reunion quite a lot. To him, it seemed that Brienne had given no thought to a reunion, that she had believed he would remain at King’s Landing with Cersei. Perhaps he had finally spoiled whatever image she held of him. Nevertheless, Jaime intended to do whatever he could to regenerate their companionship. Upon arriving at the third door on the right in the west corridor, he opened it, threw his measly belongings into the corner of the barely-furnished room, and noticed a goblet and a platter of pork and some bread. Grateful, he quickly swigged the water before stashing the bread into his pockets to eat later, dead-set on heading to where he knew he would find her.

***

From afar, Jaime watched as Podrick Payne put up a better fight than ever against Brienne. He had sent Pod with Brienne as a joke more than anything, but he found himself impressed with the young squire at how far he had come under Brienne’s leadership. Just as he thought that, Brienne easily gained the advantage, and soon had Pod on his backside, defeated. Jaime watched as the boy laughed, reaching for Brienne’s outstretched hand to lift him back onto his feet. They spoke a few words, Brienne’s back to Jaime, who had begun to walk closer to the pair, before Pod’s eyes looked to his own and widened in recognition.

“Ser Jaime! Good to see you, ser,” he exclaimed in youthful excitement. Sheathing his sword, he reached out with his right hand to shake Jaime’s, before realising his mistake. Coyishly, he pulled back his right arm, replacing it with his left. “Oh, erm – I apologise, ser.”

Jaime took Pod’s left hand with his own, ignoring his blunder. “It’s good to see you too, Podrick. I hope you don’t mind my spying on you but I’m very impressed by how far you seem to have come.” Pod’s face lit up at the compliment to which Jaime smiled, amusedly, before turning to the woman he had come to find. “Lady Brienne has done a tremendous job with you.”

Brienne looked at Jaime, embarrassed, caught off-guard by what sounded like a genuine compliment. “He would have learnt what he has from anybody else just as well,” she retorted, looking away awkwardly.

“I’m sure that’s not true, my lady,” said Jaime, before turning to Pod once again. “I apologise, Pod, but would you mind at all if I were to have a private word with Lady Brienne?”

“Yes, not a problem, ser. I’m glad to have seen you. I will see you later, milady.” The young man nodded at both Jaime and Brienne before turning away and bounding boyishly towards the main courtyard.

Standing alone beside Brienne, Jaime very suddenly felt anxious. He tilted his head up ever so slightly, as she was just that little bit taller than him, and found that she was staring out at the men training not far away. “Well,” he chuckled, uncharacteristically nervous. “I don’t expect you thought you’d ever see me again.”

A moment passed before Brienne finally met his questioning gaze. “For the first time, Ser Jaime, I truly did doubt you.”

“I’m surprised it took you so long, everybody else gave up on me long ago,” he chuckled again, trying to ease the tension he so strongly felt between them. “Look, I owe you an apology for the way I behaved when we last met. I should not have been so brusque. I do not blame you for doubting me, but I thank you for standing up to defend me in spite of that.”

“A good man shouldn’t suffer a bad man’s fate,” Brienne said, turning her head back to those who were training. “Besides, we need every man we can get.”

“Certainly.” He followed her gaze to the swordfight in front of them, wishing it was not so unusually awkward between them. Eventually, he thought of a way to break the ice. “Would you like to spar, my lady? The gods know I need all the practice I can get if I’m to be of any use. My left hand, as you know, is less than satisfactory at the best of times, but I’ve been riding for the past month and have not trained once.”

Brienne sighed but agreed, seemingly reluctant. “As you wish, Ser Jaime”. She pulled Oathkeeper out as he drew Widow’s Wail from its scabbard, and they turned to face each other. Making the first move, Jaime cut forward with his weak hand, but Brienne skilfully parried it, nearly knocking the sword out of his hand immediately. Brienne smirked at him, catching him off-guard, and she advanced on him, swinging left first, then right, right again, relentless, always pushing Jaime backwards but never pushing his limits.

“Gods, Brienne!” he cried. “Give me something more than that! Don’t pity me. You know I like a challenge!” Metal met metal, Valyrian steel on Valyrian steel, their swords continued to connect as their clanging and clinking rang out through the courtyard, but, still, he found it too easy to parry her advances. “Come on, wench, for gods’ sake! Or do you want me to wind you up like that time on the bridge?” Brienne glared at him, but did not strike with any more urgency. He continued, knowing he would have to really rile her up to get a fight out of her, pressing forward as he did. “Where’s that brutish force you used to have? Don't you remember the first time we fought? I’d never seen a woman like you! Gods, if I’d have known you fight like a pansy nowadays, I would have objected to serving under you! Where’s your fire gone?”

“Where’s my _fire_?!” she finally retorted, venom audibly present in her voice. She cut from above and Jaime had to react fast to parry it. “I’m not going to exert all my strength on a man–”, she swung her sword in a leftward arc, “–who took the easy road–”, she forced a downward cut, “–while we all accepted death weeks ago!” Left. Right. She forced him backwards, causing him to stumble momentarily on loose gravel. “It’s easy for you to joke–”, Jaime ducked to the side, away from her downcut, “–when you gave up on this fight immediately!”

She was well and truly on the offence now, no holding back, and Jaime had to match her every action precisely or he was afraid she really would strike him down. Continuing her rant, she cried, “You only came here to spite your sister!”

That really got Jaime’s back up, but he hadn’t come all this way to think about Cersei. “Your eyes are marvellous, so alive when you fight,” he grinned at her devilishly, knowing exactly how to get to her. Taken aback by his teasing, Brienne lost the upperhand and Jaime forced himself forward, coming at her faster and more intense. She blocked his thrust, but only just, and he swung at her downwards to capitalise on her lapse in precision. Jaime’s ego blew up when she hit the ground. “Always a pleasure, Brienne,” he said, crouching over her. He balanced his sword against his leg, reaching out his left hand to her as she blushed and scowled at him, refusing to take his hand. “Your eyes really do come alive when you wield that sword.”

Brienne took offence to his comments and rolled out from beneath Jaime, readjusting her grip on Oathkeeper when she was back on her feet. “If the only reason you’ve come here was to mock me then you’re a lesser man than I thought,” she grunted, lunging forward at him.

On the backfoot again, Jaime felt he’d perhaps gone too far in his bid to get a reaction out of her as he suddenly found himself incapable of matching her strides. Breathless, he somehow managed to parry her every strike, moving backwards all the while. “I came here because I’d rather die here than at the hands of my sister!”

“Oh, it’s always about Cersei with you! So Lady Sansa was right,” she panted, slicing Oathkeeper through the air to collide with Widow’s Wail once more. “I vouched for your honesty and your loyalty in that trial and I meant every word I said. I thought you’d come to fight for the right army.” Jaime opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off with a blow to his shin from the right, “But I think what drove you here was pride. You didn’t come here for the right reasons at all, you came because you were afraid – because you’re a coward!”

“That’s not why I came and you know it!” Jaime roared, panting. With every last ounce of stamina he had left in him, he gained the upperhand once more. Slashing once right and twice left, their swords connected one last time before Brienne finally asked the question he knew she had been dying to ask.

“Then why is it that you came?!” she cried. A period of silence passed between them, for a moment not even the sound of metal on metal filled the air, but Brienne soon had enough of waiting for a response and lunged forward, jutting Oathkeeper in the direction of Jaime’s chest.

Bested, Jaime dropped Widow’s Wail and dropped to his knees, arms up in surrender as Brienne continued to point her sword at him. _Just typical_ , he thought. _She could damn well kill me with the blasted thing I gave her._

Alas, he knew it would not come to that, and he watched as, unsurprisingly, she lowered Oathkeeper. Standing up tall, she placed it back in her scabbard and watched as Jaime slowly rose from his knees using his golden hand for leverage. Looking at him expectantly, she raised her eyebrows at him as she waited for him to be honest with her.

He took a deep breath and smirked in her direction. “That was fun, we should tangle more often.” When there was no change to Brienne’s austere expression, he changed his tone to match the mood. He averted his gaze, embarrassed that he was about to open up to her. “Look… I don’t know whether you know it, but that damned moral compass of yours can be quite persuasive. I knew as soon as I saw you at that dragonpit that you were the person I wanted to stand beside in battle, but with Cersei… it’s hard. I’ve never been free to make choices around her and it’s something I’ve had to put up with my whole life. That was until we were separated, of course, and then I met you. You made me think myself a better man than I am; for once I believed I had done the honourable thing by betraying my king. I always intended to come here, to follow your lead; I just had to free myself from her properly first.”

He looked her in the eyes before continuing, “I don’t know why, but you’ve always held me in higher esteem than I deserve. I think deep down you knew I always intended to fight for the living. My intention was always to act with the honourable part of myself, the part that only you know.”

“Ser Jaime–”

Jaime cut her off. “Please, hear me out. When you told me to ‘fuck loyalty’,” he smirked at her and her lips curled slightly upwards in response, “I knew then and there that my loyalties to my house had long gone. I hadn’t been a Lannister since before I was your prisoner; I’d merely been a pawn that my father and then Cersei would play with. I shouldn’t have walked away from you as I did, but please know that I’ve regretted it ever since.

“I should have travelled North beside you and I knew that then, but I needed to cut all ties with my sister before I could. I left that night, but travelling alone is much harder than with a troupe and I guess I had too many miles to make up to catch up to you all. But I’m here now. I guess what I’m trying to say, Lady Brienne, is that I came to fight beside the most honourable person I know. I’d rather die doing this, than live beside Cersei any longer.”

The look on Brienne’s face consisted of confusion, mixed with embarrassment and mild annoyance. “If you meant to travel North, couldn’t you have just told me that before I prepared myself to never hear from you again? You could have given me a sign at the dragonpit, given me your word… you could have sent a raven! Instead, I’ve spent a month wondering why I was so convinced of the good in you when I needn’t have questioned my inner judgements.”

“I am truly sorry. I had no intention of disappointing you.” Jaime watched as Brienne struggled over the words to say. In fact, he was finding it difficult to comprehend how much his actions had affected her, and so he took a moment to consider the right words. Eventually, he formed his next sentence. “Brienne… I’m struggling to sum up quite how grateful I am for your words earlier. I thank you for effectively saving my life–”

“As you have saved mine,” Brienne cut him off.

“I guess so. But I thank you for speaking up for me and for seeing what nobody else sees in me. I don’t deserve to be able to fight alongside the likes of yourself, but I am honoured to have the chance.”

Brienne looked wary, still unsure of Jaime’s uncharacteristically complimentary outburst. “Ser, you needn’t be honoured. It would not matter whose command you fight under as we are all doomed regardless. I’m just a ruddy woman with a sword, after all. I don’t back myself against the dead, and neither should you. None of us know the horrors that await us, but I won’t hold my breath for survival.”

“You’re so much more than a woman with a sword,” Jaime responded, shocked at her defeatist attitude. He knew she had her insecurities, but she tended not to let him see them. Normally she would give as much as she took from him, but to see her put herself down like this was so foreign to Jaime. He felt something like annoyance deep within his stomach. Perhaps annoyance wasn’t the right word, but he felt a strong desire to correct her, to tell her how special she was – how special she was to him. But that would mean opening up a can of worms he did not want to delve into, and so he vowed to keep his ever-increasingly confusing feelings to himself. He was not ready to articulate what she meant to him, and he knew that she was not ready to hear it. Perhaps neither of them would ever be ready.

Instead, he asked her to promise him one thing. “Don’t put yourself down like that. Please. Whether we win this fight or we lose it, we can rest peacefully knowing that we are fighting for the just cause.”

Brienne nodded, a bashful look on her face. She clearly had not expected to hear such kindnesses from Jaime today. She clearly had not expected to hear from him ever again. Deep inside, she was happy to see him, elated even. But she would not show that to him. “We are. I’m glad you’re here, I’ve always known you are a good man.”

Jaime was surprised to hear her be so forthright in her appraisal of him, and he smiled at her, bowing his head in abashment. She continued, “You’re to meet me in the courtyard at sunrise in the morn if you wish to be my second-in-command.”

He lifted his head to check she wasn’t joking and saw a smirk on her lips as she revelled in the fact she had caught him off-guard. “You want me to be–?”

“I do,” she said as a small smile lit up her eyes. She nodded at him before turning away, leaving Jaime to watch her leave him behind for the second time today, bewildered.

He felt something like a fire ablaze deep within his chest as he called out to her, “Lady Brienne!” She paused in her departure, turning to face him once again. “Would it be too bold to request your company at dinner this evening?” he asked somewhat timidly.

He watched as she rearranged her features, visibly shocked to have been propositioned. “As you wish. I wouldn't want you to eat alone, Ser Jaime. You may sit with Pod and I.” She smiled again as he nodded his thanks before taking her leave once again.

Jaime was sure she had agreed only out of pity for him, preventing him from being alienated as she had so regularly been in the past, but he would take what he could get. He was much happier than he should have been about a dinner date with Podrick Payne, but, if he never got to spend another day with Brienne, at least they would have tonight.


	5. Five Years' Time

“Little brother!” Jaime called out as he watched Tyrion bid farewell to the young man he had been talking to.

“Now, now, Jaime,” grinned the dwarf, “less of the _little_.” He swaggered over to his older brother and embraced him, his head barely reaching Jaime’s chest as Jaime’s own arms wrapped around him. “So, you’ve finally shaken her?”

Jaime pulled away, lowering his head to meet Tyrion’s chastising gaze. “I can’t get to her now; she’s too far gone. I’ve known it longer than I care to admit, but I never thought she’d have me dead.”

“Gods be good, she really is irredeemable. It’s always been you and her, but if she wants you dead…”

“It _was_ me and her. But, honestly, the last time we were a true pair was the day I threw the Stark boy out of that tower window. Mentally, I separated from her when his mother held me captive, but… we were always connected, always one physically. We shared a _womb_ , Tyrion; I was convinced we were born and must live as one. It’s hard to explain it, and even harder to justify it. No matter what she did, I couldn’t help but be drawn back in; she always welcomed me back in.”

“But not this time,” Tyrion said dryly. “And so you came here. Because she’d had enough of you.”

“I’d had enough of _her. G_ ive me some credit, Tyrion,” Jaime pleaded. “Whether she’d have threatened me or not, I’d reached the end of my tether with her. There’s only so long you can blindly follow someone before it becomes too much. Besides, what man would choose to die at the hands of his sister when he could write himself, a one-handed oathbreaker, into the history books in battle? The White Book awaits another of my great feats,” Jaime laughed sarcastically, running his good hand through his greying hair. “Really though, brother, how have we got ourselves into a mess such as this?”

“You mean our imminent war with death? Perhaps it’s the gods telling us the time has come to _finally_ pay our debts, to be punished for every miscreant transgression we’ve committed during our time. I, for one, do not intend on surviving. Once I’ve played my part in strategising, I’m going to drink myself into an early grave instead. Who knows? Maybe I’ll march onwards to King’s Landing, dead as a doornail, and finally get one over on Cersei.”

“Leave it to me, brother. She came into this world with me, I intend to be there when she leaves it,” Jaime stated.

“There you go again,” Tyrion rolled his eyes. “You and that stupid twin thing! You’re not hers anymore. You’ve taken enough pleasure from her in your life, give me this one pleasure in death. _I’ve_ suffered more at her hands, I think you’ll agree.”

Jaime did not agree, but he didn’t want to bore Tyrion with the details of the staggering mental toil he had suffered at the hands of their sister. “You know, Father would be turning in his grave at this, the end of the line for us Lannisters.”

“I think he’d be quite pleased to see the life drain from _my_ eyes, but I doubt he’d reach out to me to invite me for a reunion dinner in death,” Tyrion joked, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m not sure Lannister red ever truly suited me anyway, too showy for a man of my stature.”

Jaime chuckled sourly. “Likewise. He disowned me the day I returned without my hand. A cripple and a dwarf for sons! Gods, I bet Father wished Cersei had been born with a cock! Nevertheless, Lannisters or no, I’ll be glad to die beside my brother.”

Tyrion clapped him on the back. “Aye. For the living, not the Lannisters!”

Jaime laughed as Tyrion spoke again. “Oh, gods help us! Well… I’m not sure you need to worry about praying to the Warrior. Big Brienne appears keen to rise to the role of protector where you’re concerned; you’ve made a mighty impact on her, it seems. You’re lucky your sweet knight Florian came to your aid back there, Jonquil.” Tyrion rose an eyebrow suggestively, intending to mock Jaime; Jaime turned his head away from his brother.

“Don’t call her that,” Jaime’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll do well to remember she’s a highborn lady. And, I can assure you, she’s made a bigger impact on me.”

“Ah, so that’s how it is,” Tyrion mused. “You didn’t come here to get away from Cersei after all, you came here to get closer to _her_. Now _that_ I did not expect.”

“Trust me, I didn’t expect it either,” Jaime chuckled nervously. “She _is_ the reason I came, I’ll admit, but not for the reason you’re thinking. Truly, I’ve never seen such honour in anybody before; it’s compelling.”

“Gods, you really are in deep,” Tyrion snorted.

“Tyrion…” Jaime berated his brother for mocking him. “Taunt me all you like, but, inexplicably, she thinks me a better man than I deserve. She makes me believe I can be a better man than I have right to be given my previous crimes.”

“Since when does the kingslayer care for what people have to say about him?” Tyrion asked, still smirking. “My, my. So, tell me… is it merely that you admire this woman, or do you _admire_ her?” His wagged his eyebrows once again, conveying his implied meaning.

“I don’t know what you’re getting at, brother.” Jaime knew exactly what he was getting at, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to bare his soul to his brother.

“Oh please, Jaime, you know exactly what I mean,” Tyrion countered. “Do you want to fight beside her, or do you want to _be inside_ her?”

“Tyrion!” Jaime chided, looking around to ensure nobody was in earshot. “Look, it’s not like that with Brienne. She doesn’t see me that way.”

“But you see her that way,” said Tyrion, trying to push his brother’s feelings into the open. “You might not be the golden lion of your youth, but I couldn’t name a single woman who’d kick you out of their bed, one hand or no. I assure you, she’s thought of you in that way.”

“It’s not that I want her in my bed. Well…” Tyrion smirked as Jaime began to backtrack, revealing what he wouldn’t say aloud. “It’s more than that. I’ve had thoughts and feelings. _Dreams_ even. It’s consuming and confusing. Truth be told, I have no idea how or why or even when this happened, but I have no intentions of exploring how I feel. She can never know.”

“My word,” Tyrion let out a breath. “Who’d have thought it?”

“You mustn’t repeat this. To _anyone_ ,” Jaime scolded.

“You can count on me. But the same goes for you. You’re right. As much as I’d _love_ to see how this pans out, you’d be a fool to tell her before this battle, and it’s not like you’ll have chance to woo her afterwards.”

He continued, musing, “Perhaps they’ll bury you next to each other. Now, wouldn’t that be romanti–” Tyrion’s sentence was brought to an abrupt end as Jaime slapped him on his back with his golden hand, near winding him. “That was uncalled for,” he glared up at Jaime.

“It was completely called for and you know it,” Jaime smirked, making a move to leave. “I’ll talk to you later. Stay out of trouble, and keep that mouth of yours locked up!”

***

Jaime awoke with a jolt. A moment passed before he remembered he was at Winterfell, before he remembered he’d been permitted to fight. The room was small, unassuming, but there was a small grate against the wall where the fire he’d kindled hours ago was still aflame, and he was thankful for the comforting heat. Beyond the window, Jaime could hear a murmuring of voices in the courtyard down below, and so he went over to discover what the commotion was, intrigue getting the better of him.

In the courtyard, countless dining tables and benches had been assembled in neat rows, each seating six men. Jaime could hear the sound of drums and violins playing a folk song he’d heard in his youth, but he could not determine exactly where he had heard it before. He thought he’d heard another instrument, but, upon closer inspection, Jaime realised it was the surprisingly rhythmic clinking of goblets as men toasted one another to good health. It was only when he looked closer at the benches and saw platters stacked high with food that it dawned on him: he was late for dinner.

There was a small pail in the corner of his room. The water had warmed by the fire but Jaime rinsed his face as best as he could with one hand, and quickly gargled some of the water to rid his mouth of the taste of sleep. He could have been down for hours; he had no way of being sure. Cursing himself at the thought he might have missed Brienne, he fumbled with his tunic and awkwardly pulled it over his head. Locating the belongings he’d carelessly thrown into the room earlier, he pulled out a darker tunic than the last and he fought it over his head with one hand. It was the only item of clothing he’d had time to grab in his haste to get away from Cersei but it was clean, and that would do for now.

As the door swung to a close, he remembered he had not redonned his golden hand after sleep, but the thought was fleeting and his wrist was tender. Perhaps a night without it would do him good. He jogged somewhat spritely through the halls of Winterfell, not truly believing he was going in the right direction until he found himself approaching the same doorway he had followed Jon Snow through merely hours before. _Was that truly only today?_ Jaime could hardly believe how close he had come to death before Brienne had jumped to his rescue. His swordplay with her later in the day seemed much longer ago too, but maybe that was because it had felt just like it had when they had truly been at each other’s throats a lifetime ago. _Before I was the man she made me_.

He hesitated, but only briefly. Stepping through the doorway, Jaime scoured the mass of people for a sign of the woman but to no avail. The room was dimly lit and more men were standing than sitting, making it difficult to observe anything beyond them. He changed his tactic when he spotted the food, deciding it would be better to eat while he could than to waste his time finding her and then find that the food had gone. He muttered countless apologies as he slid through the miniscule gaps between men, once nearly knocking a goblet to the floor.

“Watch yourself, kingslayer,” the man’s eyes had narrowed as recognition set in. Jaime had apologised, holding up a hand and a stump in concession. _Pathetic_ , he thought, ashamed of his right wrist. He lingered no longer than he had to, not wanting to cause a scene, and he squeezed past a group of boys he thought could be no older than two and ten, _soldiers_ , towards where the food was laid out.

Wasting no time, Jaime awkwardly tried to ladle some stew into his own bowl with one hand before Tyrion appeared beside him. “Need a hand, brother?” he smiled.

Jaime laughed ironically but allowed Tyrion to take over, watching jealously as he tipped some turnips and butter into his bowl with dextrous ease. “Thank you,” he smiled at his brother, grateful to see at least one face who would tolerate his presence.

“Come, join me,” Tyrion gestured to where he was sitting, joined by two unsullied and Theon Greyjoy. Jaime was thankful and about to accept the invitation when he felt a pair of sapphire-blue eyes gazing at him from a table not ten metres away.

Jaime turned to Tyrion. “Thanks, but I promised my company to another this evening.” Tyrion followed Jaime’s gaze as he turned to look at Brienne again, but she had already turned back to Pod and had begun to tear a piece of bread up with more force than was necessary.

“I see. Go. Enjoy yourself, but not too much!” Tyrion laughed, gently pushing Jaime in Brienne’s direction.

Jaime walked carefully, trying not to spill from his bowl as he held it over his head trying to squeeze through to Brienne. It was a pain to wear his golden hand, but it was much more embarrassing to suffer one-handedly. He would have been much steadier with another hand. Still, his real hand was long gone, and he could think of nothing that would make him want to take back the sacrifice he had made.

Mustering up all the courage of a lion, he sat down beside Brienne. He’d contemplated asking her again if he could join her as was only polite, but he feared she would reject him if he were to ask again, and so he joined her and Pod as if it were routine. “My lady. Podrick,” he nodded at each of them in turn.

Brienne’s eyes widened momentarily as she took in the man next to her, before she composed herself enough to respond with grace. “Ser Jaime.” Although she had composed her surprise, there was naught she could do to prevent the blush blossoming on her face. Jaime smiled at her, wanting to comment on it, but Pod chimed in before he could.

“Hello, ser! Was that your brother I noticed over there?”

“It certainly was. You should go over, I’m sure he’d love to chat to you,” Jaime suggested, hoping to get Brienne alone again.

“I might, ser, once I’ve eaten,” Pod said as he chewed aggressively.

“You needn’t eat with us, you know. If you’d prefer to sit with your brother–” Brienne started.

“I’d much rather sit with you,” Jaime admitted, more quickly than he would have liked. _That was smooth_ , he thought to himself.

Brienne said nothing for a moment, then, “I’m glad you’re here, Ser Jaime.”

Jaime looked at her in astonishment, watching her spoon some more stew into her mouth. That was twice she had said that now and he was unused to her being so open with him. “Likewise, my lady,” he smiled.

They ate mostly in silence, which did not bother Jaime one bit. He had eaten very little on his travels, so the feast before him was a blessing. He more or less devoured his food whole, taking very little time between spoonfuls and barely sparing a second thought for the indigestion he was sure to suffer later. Conversation, when it came, was mostly exchanging comments on the food. It was all so normal, so _natural_ , that Jaime near forgot the reason he had come to sit beside Brienne of Tarth. It was not to reunite with an old companion at all; it was to fight to the death beside her. He silently thanked the gods between mouthfuls of food for the chance to consort with her one last time. It was more than he deserved.

Pod finished his supper first, but Jaime was not far behind. He basked in his post-food dreariness as he listened to Pod and Brienne discuss the progress of a young swordsman of whom Jaime had never heard. He had zoned out at one point; absentmindedly, he had been gazing at Brienne for who knows how long before she turned to look at him with a questioning glance.

“Hm?” Jaime said, embarrassed to have been caught in deep thought, about her no less. He had been holding his head in his left hand, but he quickly corrected his posture to a more upright position in embarrassment.

“I was just saying that–”

“Podrick! Move over, young chap, would you?” Tyrion had made his way over to the table, goblet of wine in hand. “Lady Brienne,” he raised his goblet in greeting. “Brother,” he raised his eyebrows as he drank, maintaining eye contact with Jaime.

Jaime knew not why his brother had come over, but he knew him too well to know he had nothing innocent in mind. He eyed Tyrion warily, telling him with his eyes to be careful; he did not want him to drunkenly reveal anything to Brienne.

“I was offended at first by my dear brother’s refusal to sit with me, but now I’ve seen your eyes, my lady, I can see why he’d choose to sit with you,” Tyrion’s eyes glimmered with mischief as he spoke.

Brienne looked abashed. “My lord, I– I– Ser Jaime sat with us only to be cordial, I’m sure. We’d discussed eating together earlier, else I’m sure he would have preferred your company.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Tyrion chuckled. Jaime kicked him under the table, satisfied when a look of pain shot across the dwarf’s face.

“No, who’d want to eat with somebody as irritating as you?” Jaime said, his words laced with underlying venom. He made a face at Tyrion; he was up to no good.

“Irritating? I’m the life and soul of the party!” Tyrion took another deep gulp from his goblet, looking disappointed when he found he had emptied it. “Stay here. Let me grab some more wine, and then we can all play a game!” He disappeared, taking his empty goblet with him.

“My lady, I apologise for my brother, he’s…” Jaime tailed off, unsure how to finish the appraisal of his brother.

“He’s a distraction,” Brienne said. “I think a distraction’s what we all need at a time like this. Let’s humour him; a game might be fun.”

Jaime was shocked to see Brienne so readily accept the possibility of fun. She’d always been so stoic and reserved around him; he only ever saw her enjoy herself during a good fight. Her eager willingness to engage in a game with his brother was enough to convince Jaime to stick around. One wrong move from Tyrion, though, and he’d have to excuse himself.

“So,” Tyrion exclaimed, upon returning with a whole pitcher of wine. “Let’s begin!”

Jaime looked at him warily, unsure what he was about to suggest.

“Just a little bit of fun,” Tyrion laughed to himself before clumsily taking a swig of wine from the pitcher which was nearly half the size of him. “Let’s pretend we’re _not_ facing imminent death. How about we play a little game about the future? Imaginary, of course; all in jest. Pod, I think you know me well enough so you can start. If circumstances were different, and we were all likely to be alive in five years’ time, where do you think I’d be?”

Pod smiled at the challenge, drawing his eyebrows together in deep thought for a moment before laughing. “You’d still be the Queen’s Hand, no doubt. You’d live in King’s Landing, but instead of red and gold it would be coloured in red and black. You’d wear black, no doubt; you always hated red.”

Tyrion laughed. “Very good! Continue.”

“You’d spend your days verbally torturing your sister in the tunnels below the Red Keep; you wouldn’t ever hurt her but you’d take great pleasure in keeping her alive only to wind her up. By night, you’d frequent a local bar, accepting all the complimentary drinks that come with being the Hand, and, forgive me, my lady,” Pod glanced at Brienne sheepishly, “you’d have a whole host of beautiful women queueing up to spend the night with you.”

“I like it! Very true to character.” Tyrion grinned at them all in turn, amused by the nervous look on Brienne’s face and the wary look on Jaime’s. “Jaime! Your turn, I think.”

Jaime held his breath, knowing what was coming.

“Five years’ time. Where will young Podrick be? What will a typical day look like?”

That wasn’t what he had expected. But if he wasn’t predicting Brienne’s non-existent future, that would probably mean she’d be predicting his and he wasn’t sure he was ready to hear what kind of existence she’d dream up for him.

“In five years’ time… Pod, you’d be Ser Podrick Payne, knighted for bravery in the Battle of Winterfell. You’d have a place on the Queensguard; my brother here would be your mentor in women, and Brienne here would be your mentor in fighting. It wouldn’t take long for you to find a wife; many a young maiden would throw themselves at a battle-experienced knight. You’d spend your days protecting your queen, and your nights pleasuring your wife.” Jaime smirked at Pod, before turning to Brienne, “Apologies for the crudity, my lady.”

Brienne waved a hand in acceptance; she’d spent enough time around men to know how they talk about women when they get together. Well, how they talk about _most_ women.

Podrick was looking very pleased with himself, a smug smile on his boyish face as he revelled in the pretend future Ser Jaime Lannister had conjured for him.

“Now, Brienne’s turn! What life do you imagine for my brother in five years’ time?” Tyrion prompted. The look on his face suggested he was enjoying this game; he was certainly enjoying the uneasy look on his brother’s face.

“Oh, erm– ” Brienne began, a blush spreading over her cheeks. “Ser Jaime will be Lord of Casterly Rock.” She turned to Jaime. “Forgive me, Jaime. If it were any other queen, I’d give you a place on her Queensguard, but–”

“Brienne, the Targaryen despises me, I know. This is pretend. You don’t have to justify yourself; I promise I won’t be offended.” He offered her a small smile. He was nervous, but he could tell so was she.

“Thank you.” A short, shaky laugh escaped her lips at the absurdity of this game. “Okay, so you’d inherit Casterly Rock, she’d grant you that much if Tyrion suggested it, I hope. You’d spend your days with your two children: a girl and a boy. You’d spar with them during the day, and you’d read to them at night. Sometimes you’d make up your own stories, sometimes you’d tell them about your time as a knight. You’d be married to a woman as beautiful as you, someone who sees the best in you; she’d be the furthest thing from Cersei and a perfect mother to your children. Every fortnight or so you’d have Tyrion around for dinner, and he’d keep you up to date with the drama in King’s Landing. I like to think _we’d_ keep in touch too; you could write to me once or month or so at Evenfall, whatever you could fit in around your family, and you could keep me up to date with Tyrion’s gossip.” She laughed nervously as she finished, looking first at Tyrion (who smirked, satisfied), and then at Jaime who was looking at her with something she could only describe as awe on his face.

“I think I could definitely manage once a month or so,” Jaime finally said with a soft chuckle, to which Brienne found her cheeks heating up. She looked away, embarrassed again.

Tyrion broke the tension in the air, relieving Jaime and Brienne of their respective embarrassment with his own turn. “Right, Lady Brienne.” He drew out her name, shooting a sly look at Jaime before continuing.

“Five years from now, Brienne, you’ll be married to a handsome knight. He’ll be strong, but not as strong as you because you couldn’t have that, right? You’d live your life on Tarth as rightful heir, and Pod here would be your second-in-command. He’d often do a lot of the more tedious stuff for you, because you’d be an ever-present mother to your wonderful son and daughter, and you’d hate missing out on any opportunity to watch your loving husband entertaining them. Your daughter would be just like you, fierce and fearless, and your son like his father, mischievous and more confident than anyone should have the right to be. Together, you and your knight would tell them stories of your past, stories of sacrifice you both made for each other, before tucking them into bed and heading off for some glorious, knightly sex.”

“Tyrion!” Jaime exclaimed. He had gone too far. Not only had he insulted Brienne who would be no doubt _mortified_ at the mention of her sex life, but he had given her the same pretend future as she had more or less given Jaime. It was _too_ similar for Jaime’s liking. He glared at his brother, too afraid to look at Brienne.

Brienne, whose cheeks were now painted Lannister red, observed the look between the brothers. Jaime looked as if he were to strike his brother, while Tyrion looked at Jaime with a devilish twinkle in his eye as if he were trying to draw out a reaction. A reaction to what, Brienne didn’t know, but there was something disconcertingly similar about what she had said to Jaime, and what Tyrion had said to her.

But before that idea had fully manifested in her head, she shook it away, thinking herself silly for even entertaining the idea, however briefly. Whatever the look shared between the Lannisters meant, it did not mean _that_.

“That’s very kind, my lord,” Brienne eventually said. “But I don’t think a man of that description would want a life like that with a woman like me. It was very polite of you to say so though.”

“Oh, my dear Brienne,” Tyrion smiled. “If only you’d open your eyes.”

“What?” Brienne faltered. She was used to men toying with her emotions because she showed them so visibly, but it never hurt any less. Tyrion knew that all women eventually fell at Jaime’s feet, and he was just playing with her as men did. Jaime didn’t know how Brienne felt, but Brienne knew that Jaime felt nothing of what she felt in return to her.

Brienne was saved from whatever mockery Tyrion was about to spout next by Jaime’s admonishment. “Brother, I think you’ve had more than enough to drink. Perhaps you should take it easy on that wine.” He had nearly emptied the pitcher.

“Fine. I know where I’m not welcome,” Tyrion slurred, a knowing smile still plastered on his face. He stood up and stumbled, nearly faceplanting the ground as he tried to raise his leg over the bench.

Pod reached out to steady him and stood up himself. “I’ll make sure he gets to his room without falling over,” he said to Jaime in earnest, smiling slightly. “If you’ll excuse me, ser, my lady, but I’ll retire to my own room too.”

“Thank you, Pod,” Jaime smiled as Brienne nodded her goodbye. The pair watched as the dwarf and his former squire waddled and stumbled through the hall together, Tyrion’s a product of wine, Pod’s a product of fatigue and general clumsiness. Finally, Jaime turned to Brienne. “I apologise for my brother, Brienne. He doesn’t know what he’s saying when under the influence of alcohol, take no notice of him.”

“I’ve taken my fair share of mockery, Ser Jaime. I know when to take a man’s comments in jest,” she smiled, but it didn’t quite meet her sapphire eyes. Jaime smiled a small smile in response, but it was tinged with a look of sympathy or pity, Brienne couldn’t tell which. She didn’t want to dwell on that subject with Jaime Lannister of all people, so, instead, she feigned a polite yawn, covering her mouth with her hand in a more ladylike manner than she was used to. “I think I’d better retire myself, it’ll be sunrise before long and I must sleep. Goodnight, Ser Jaime.”

As she rose from the bench, Jaime could only give her another polite smile. He felt as though Tyrion’s meddling had brought Brienne’s barriers all the way up again, and he cursed him for effectively ruining what was otherwise a pleasant evening. There was nought more to be done now but bid her goodnight, and pray to the gods they'd survive at least until he could see her again on the morrow, without Tyrion's hindering presence.

“Goodnight, Lady Brienne. Rest well.”


	6. Lady Brienne

Brienne of Tarth awoke feeling unsettled. It took her a moment to wake up properly, but then she remembered why she felt so odd. Ser Jaime Lannister had shown up at Winterfell after all. This time yesterday, she had gone about her morning ritual in the very same way as any other day, rising at dawn, waking Pod, and then heading out to train with the men she had come to be in command of. Today, though, her plans had changed. Because of Ser Jaime. Brienne had somehow gathered the courage to stand up in front of a room of people who wanted him dead, and her words alone had prevented that from happening. She was sure the lethal combination of Daenerys Targaryen and Sansa Stark would be the death of him, trial or not. But Ser Jaime lived and was permitted to fight. _Jaime Lannister under my command._ Brienne could still not believe it.

To Brienne’s dismay, she’d somehow overslept. Rising from her bed, she went over to the window and drew back the drapes. _Damn_. She’d told Ser Jaime to meet her at sunrise, but, here she was, still in her chamber, undressed, whilst the first glimmering disk of sunlight began to ascend over the horizon.

As she readied herself as fast as she could, she took solace in the fact that Ser Jaime had been travelling for over a month and would most likely have overslept himself, having spent his first night back in a proper bed. _Yes_ , she thought, _I’ll probably have to wake him like I usually do Pod._ Grabbing Oathkeeper on her way out, she placed it in her swordbelt as she suddenly remembered why she had awoken with such an uneasy feeling in her stomach.

The previous night had been pleasant enough; Ser Jaime had joined her for dinner. Of course, Pod had been there too, but it was Brienne’s company that he had requested. Incredibly, he had opted to sit with them, despite the presence of his younger brother, of whom Brienne knew he was very fond. Tyrion had taken offence to being pushed aside for Brienne, and so he’d forced his company on all of them. The game he had initiated seemed innocent enough on the surface, but the youngest Lannister was devilishly mischievous, and Brienne could read him well enough to know that he had some kind of ulterior motive. Though she had pondered it for hours before sleep took her, Brienne could still not put her finger on what his intentions had been. He and Jaime had exchanged several looks though, and Jaime had acted somewhat odd.

In fact, Ser Jaime had acted _more_ than odd ever since his arrival. She knew he felt guilty for the way he had treated her at the dragonpit, but he had apologised for that and she forgave him immediately. They had sparred together, which was normal, but then he’d complimented her eyes, which was not. He’d done very little else but praise her, and, at first, she had thought it was his way of giving thanks. The more she pondered it, however, the less convinced she was. She would never dare admit it to herself, but Brienne had a feeling, nay, merely a foolish hope, that Ser Jaime Lannister had come here to tell her something, but she had forbidden herself from even contemplating what was a certain impossibility. Jaime would surely mock her if he knew the absurdity of her speculation, and, if the previous evening was anything to go by, the Lannister brothers needed no encouragement in winding Brienne up.

Brienne braced herself as she stepped into the morning snow, a paralysing cold that only Winterfell knew. A moment passed as her eyes adjusted to the swirling white, before surprise struck her. He was here. She pulled her hood over her head heavy-handedly as she awkwardly jogged through the flurry, embarrassed to have been late to her own arrangement.

“My lady,” Ser Jaime greeted her politely, but the smirk on his face betrayed him. He was playing with her. “I’m afraid you missed it. The sun is already risen. ‘Twas a beauty.”

Brienne shot him a threatening glare. “May I remind you, Ser Jaime, that I’m in charge now. It is not your place to berate my time-keeping.”

Jaime chuckled in response. “Relax, Brienne. I’m only fooling around.” Brienne hated to admit it but her heart leapt at his familiar use of her name. “I’m unworthy to be your second-in-command as it is, you must know I would do nothing to jeopardise it.”

“I appointed you, ser,” Brienne assured him. “No matter what others think, the position is yours. They left you under my command, so I could do with you as I wish.”

Jaime’s eyebrows rose suggestively.

Brienne glowered at him. “On the battlefield,” she hissed, praying that the heat she felt in her cheeks was not visible to him.

“Yes, the battlefield… Where else did your mind go?” Jaime pressed.

“I warn you, ser,” Brienne started, before Jaime put his hands in the air (one the clunky, golden thing he’d worn upon arriving in Winterfell) as a sign of surrender.

“Apologies,” he sighed, seemingly disappointed to have got so little a reaction out of her.

“As I was saying, Lady Sansa _insisted_ you serve under me; she can have no quarrel with your new position. Yours is the most valuable knowledge we have if we are to win this thing.” Brienne smiled at him, resigned. Realistically, she knew nothing could help them win it, but she had to at least fake some optimism if her men were to fully commit to her as leader.

“I believe a one-handed fool might not be so valuable as a woman as strong as you. Look at you. A commander in battle! I’m proud of you, Brienne,” Jaime declared as casually as if he’d told her it was chilly out.

“Th– thank you, Ser Jaime,” Brienne murmured, shocked. “That truly means a lot.” _More than he’ll ever know_. “I suppose we should get down to business. I called you here so we could run through our strategy before we break our fast so that we can attend the meeting later with everything in place.”

“A suitable plan, my lady,” Jaime praised. “Now, tell me, what are our hopes for survival?”

“Slim,” Brienne told him, abruptly but honestly. “Truly, ser, I think our final acts will involve standing our ground for as long as possible; there will be no opportunity for heroics. We have command of the left flank, meaning we have a vantage point on which we can observe the oncoming attack, but I think our role is a case of slowing the dead, not stopping them. They’ll have to ascend the mount to reach us, but we’ll only have that benefit for a moment before they’re on us.”

She walked over to a clearing, beckoning Jaime to follow. Holding out her arm, she pointed to the ground where the two of them were likely to die in battle. “See? It’s not going to help us win, but it’ll help us protect those within the walls. You were put under my command because our lives are essentially expendable; Queen Daenerys has no place for us in her court. Sansa knew Daenerys would not object to your fighting, because the chance of survival is so low anyway. She might as well have another soldier, and Sansa knew I would have no objection.”

Jaime chuckled darkly. “I expected nothing less. I don’t know about you, but I’d love to see the look on her face if we survived! Who do we have control of? The northmen?”

Brienne nodded.

“A good start. I’d wager those men know Winterfell better than they know their own homes, and I’m certain they’d sacrifice themselves should it come to that. But that’s the thing: even if all we are to do is postpone death rather than stop it, we’re fully equipped for that. These men are sworn to serve Winterfell anyway, and, even if they should die in the process, I’m sure they’ll put up a braver fight out of pride than other men would do to save their own skin. Trust me on this, Brienne, we’re in good stead. We’ll play our part well.”

“You speak sense, no doubt,” Brienne praised him. “If we keep a tight formation upon our mount, I think we can hold them off for a while; after that, those of us who survive might be able to retreat inside the walls in order to defend from above. That’s why I wanted you here this morning. In my absence, should I die…”

Jaime shot Brienne a look which made her stomach clench involuntarily.

“It’s a likely possibility. _If_ I should die, you’re in command. If we hold them back… If there’s any lapse in attack, we need to capitalise on it and withdraw. We won’t have time to count our losses. We simply move. Those who remain with us need to make their way _inside_ the gates, and up onto the ramparts. Once we fall back, the dead will likely try to penetrate the walls, so we need everybody to be on guard. Our role then becomes defensive; we’re to protect those manning the trebuchets, the catapults and the archers. We’re to be protectors, not heroes.”

Jaime nodded, taking it all in. Brienne watched him for a moment as he gazed at the land they had to command. _I could do worse_ , she thought. Fighting beside the warrior that was Jaime Lannister was reassuring.

“I don’t hold out hope that I’ll last long, my lady, and I encourage you to seriously contemplate the likelihood of having to replace me with Pod mid-battle. I can hold my own long enough in a fight with my weak hand when my opponent holds back, but, in real battle, I shan’t fare well. I vow to fight as best I can for as long as I can, though. A younger version of myself would be hunting for glory, but the best I can do is as much as you are asking of me. I can help hold them back, for a time, but the odds of me making it back within the walls are embarrassingly short. I only ask that you do nothing stupid.”

Brienne shot an offended look his way.

“I mean no offence, but I know you better than you think. If I am to fall, if I am to come under attack, you must promise me that you will not try to defend me. If I cannot protect myself, that is on me. You have to promise me, Brienne. Look after yourself for as long as you can. I’m just another disposable soldier, but you’re a leader.”

“I promise, but… you’re _not_ disposable,” Brienne said defiantly. “Don’t speak of yourself in that way.”

“My lady, in a battle of life versus death, I wouldn’t value a cripple so highly. I’ve accepted my fate already; I merely hope I can protect the rest of you long enough to get inside the walls.”

Something in the way Jaime gazed deep into her eyes as he spoke suggested he cared only about protecting Brienne, but she mentally berated herself for entertaining that idea for even a moment.

The pair stood silent for a short while, both imagining the fight to come and daring not to think how and when they might be killed. Brienne had spoken about Jaime having to take over from her if she were to fall first, but she had not considered the likelihood that Jaime would be the first to perish. It didn’t sit right with her. Ser Jaime Lannister, the finest knight she knew, could not possibly die so soon. But, when she thought of Jaime Lannister the cripple, she could see no alternative. Of course, he would be the first of the two to die.

Merely imagining it made her heart ache within her chest, as if her ribs were tightening to the point where her heart could explode beneath them. She could not bear to have to witness his death; she had not prepared herself, nor could she ever prepare herself, to watch the light leave those glorious, green eyes through which he had revealed so many of his insecurities to her. It was those eyes, the colour of wildfire, that had spoken so much more than what his mouth had all those years ago in the bath they had shared at Harrenhal. His fears and doubts were conveyed in his terrified eyes, the abhorrence he carried for himself and his own actions made quite apparent to Brienne. She had never read so much in anyone’s eyes before or since.

She looked to him, wondering what she might read in his eyes at this moment, only to find that he was already gazing at her. His face was sorrowful, full of remorse; Brienne knew he was on good terms with his own mortality. Too many times had he said things which made her think that he was comfortable with the idea of his own death. She guessed the remorse on his face was for the shame he carried with him. _It must be so hard_ , she thought, _to save the innocent many and spend the rest of your life spurned for killing the guilty one._

“You look contemplative,” Jaime finally murmured. Green and sapphire eyes were still drawn together. “Tell me, what’s on your mind?”

Brienne sighed, snapping herself out of her sympathetic appraisal. “Death,” she said. “After everything we’ve survived, I can’t believe this is how we’re to die.”

Jaime chuckled at her morbidity. “The Warrior will stand beside you, no doubt, and the Mother will be looking down on you with pride, waiting to call you home. You’ll fight with grace and bravery, and you’ll protect your Lady Sansa until your dying breath. You’ll die as you have lived: honourable to the last.”

She smiled at him, unsure how to respond. He continued.

“Me? I’ll die a kingslayer, a man with shit for honour, a Lannister of Casterly Rock hilariously protecting the Starks’ beloved Winterfell. I can only hope the Stranger takes pity on me when he finally takes me.”

“You’re much more honourable than you give yourself credit for, ser,” Brienne told him, as she felt a familiar sadness creep up on her. He always spoke down of himself; he never saw what Brienne saw in him. A true knight. A man marred and haunted by past mistakes, but a man who had redeemed himself, salvaging the good fragments of his broken self into the most honest and selfless man Brienne had ever known. His good deeds now truly outweighed those he was shameful of, but he gave himself none of the praise he truly deserved.

“You have always been more kind to me than I deserve,” Jaime said, lowering his head. “I only hope I can do some justice to the man you think I am in my final acts." He laughed, trying to lighten the mood. "Gods, this is morbid, isn’t it?”

Brienne laughed too; it was all they could do in the face of death. “Come, let’s break our fast. We have a meeting to attend soon and I’d hate for you to be late. They don’t need another excuse to be unkind to you.”

Jaime chuckled again. “Lions don’t concern themselves with the opinions of sheep,” he said, but Brienne knew otherwise. She said nothing in response, but started walking back towards the door. Jaime followed.

***

With sated bellies, Lady Brienne led Jaime Lannister to the library of Winterfell, where they were to liaise with other members comprising the army of the living, in order to discuss their chances. Or lack thereof, as it were. To a neutral observer, Ser Jaime appeared the prideful lion of his youth, albeit slightly greyer and dressed in northern furs rather than his customary Lannister red and gold or Kingsguard white. His fierce, green eyes betrayed no fear. His gait was that of somebody with too much confidence; he had a definite swagger to his strides, but it was not quite a strut. In fact, if it weren’t for the fact that she knew him so well, Brienne would think herself more nervous than he, and she didn’t really have a reason to be. Her own breath was shaky as they approached the door to the library, unsure of the reception they were to receive. She knew Jaime, despite appearances, was not entirely comfortable entering a room with so many people who would have had him dead not a day prior.

She turned to him, intending to give him some reassurance before they entered, but it was Jaime that reassured her. He rested his good hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze, smiling at her with his eyes. “You don’t have to worry about me, Brienne. Just go in there and make them respect you,” he said, as Brienne’s heartrate increased at the contact. He still had his hand on her shoulder and she loved the way it seemed so natural.

“I know you can handle yourself, Ser Jaime, but I’ve stood up for you once and I’ll do it again if I must. I’ll make them respect the both of us.”

Jaime gave her shoulder another affectionate squeeze before removing his hand; Brienne took this as a cue to enter the room. The first thing she noticed was how dimly lit the library was; the second thing was the faces of eight and ten people all screwed up in loathing as the kingslayer made his way into the room behind her.

“My lady,” Brienne said upon noticing Sansa Stark; hers was seemingly the only face trying not to outwardly display her dislike for Ser Jaime. There was still a look of resentment upon her face, but she had the manners needed to at least try to conceal it. _I’ll make you respect him_ , Brienne vowed as much to herself as to Ser Jaime.

Lady Sansa returned, “Lady Brienne, I’m glad you could make it. Ser Jaime.” She nodded in his direction, but Brienne thought she looked as though she’d much rather have spat at him.

“You bade me do whatever I wish with Ser Jaime; I’m pleased to have made him my second-in-command.” Brienne announced to Sansa, and to the rest of the room.

Murmurs and titters broke out amongst the other men and women within the room, a sound of disbelief and mocking. _I bet they find it hilarious, don’t they? A beastly woman such as myself and a greying kingslayer to protect them all_. Her face heated up and she was convinced she was blushing, but she knew not how to shut everybody up. It was not the place to cause an argument. She calmed down ever so slightly when she felt Jaime walk forward so that he was stood beside her; he was so close that his right arm was flush against her left, and she knew he meant it as a comfort.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t take this out on Lady Brienne,” Jaime spoke slowly and carefully. Brienne held her breath. _What is he doing?_ “You’re all entitled to your opinion of me, and I assure you, I’ve heard it before. But Brienne is the finest warrior you could ever hope to meet and I trust she will protect you all with her life. For some reason unknown to me, Brienne trusts me and I vow to do all I can to be worthy of that trust. You lot don’t have to trust me, as long as she does. You don’t even need to like me, but I vow now to protect you all for as long as I can, and lay my life down for you all when the time comes.”

“I’m sure my father would be the first to scoff at your vows, Lannister,” the Targaryen spoke up. “The only reason you’re not dead yet is because I’d rather you die in a more useful way. Don’t mistake your life for a kindness.” She turned to the rest of the room. “Now, we must not allow ourselves to fight amongst each other. From now on, we are an army. We are all here to fight for a common cause and I trust that every one of you will do your utmost in battle. We are no longer our houses, our pasts no longer define us; we are the living, and what we do in action might define how we are remembered in future generations. It’s a long shot, but if we don’t believe we can be victorious, we might as well give in to death now.

“Qhono,” she turned to her Dothraki accomplice.

“Khaleesi,” he nodded, standing to attention.

“I want your men at the fore of the army; your horsemen will be our first wave of attack. I trust that you will be strong enough to push the dead back, to at least buy us more time. The longer you can prevent their advance, the longer Jon’s northmen have to operate the trebuchets and catapults. Lady Brienne’s men on the left flank will stand as back up. I trust you have informed Ser Jaime of your responsibilities,” she turned to Brienne.

“In detail,” Jaime responded for her. “We are to hold off their attack until there is pause enough to retreat within the walls and defend both the keep and our bowmen so that they might in turn defend our men on the ground.”

“Very good,” Daenerys responded, much more cordial than Brienne expected considering he had spoken out of turn. “Should they advance beyond our siege weapons, Grey Worm here will lead the Unsullied in our second wave of attack. I’m sure you’re all aware that this is a game of perseverance; we must hold out for as long as possible. Our method of attack is to simply defend for long enough that we might begin to push them back.”

“How do we hope to defeat them, then?” Theon Greyjoy asked.

“The Night King,” replied Jon Snow, eyeing Greyjoy warily. “If we can get to him, we stand a chance.”

“And he’s just going to turn up then, is he? Well aware that his presence might be the downfall of his army?” Theon asked, doubtful.

“Oh, he’ll come. He’ll come for me,” said Bran Stark, causing all eyes in the room to land on him. “He’s hunted Three-Eyed Ravens before me, and now he’ll come for me. I am the world’s memory; he wipes me out, he wipes the world away. Place me somewhere he can find me, and I promise he will show.” He gestured to a blemish the shape of a hand on his right arm; he did not need to elaborate any further.

“We’re not putting you in danger, Bran,” said little Arya Stark. Brienne looked at her, proud of the woman she was, proud of the warrior she was. “You can’t expect us to leave you vulnerable to his attack when you can’t so much as move to defend yourself!”

“I’ll protect him,” Theon vowed. “Winterfell was my home for years and I betrayed it, I betrayed you all.” He looked at Sansa, Arya, Bran and finally Jon. Jon merely narrowed his eyes. “I want to defend Winterfell now; let me defend Bran.”

Jon Snow nodded. “Daenerys and I will defend from above. I’ll watch out for the Night King’s arrival and land as soon as I catch sight of him. We don’t know yet whether dragonfire will give us an advantage against the Walkers, but the dragons will certainly allow us to observe the fight’s progress from above so we can jump in where needed.”

The mood in the library was solemn. They discussed strategy for hours, until they had run out of things to say. Daenerys dismissed them all when they had exhausted every minute detail of their plan and they all began to slowly file out of the library after being promised more music at dinner; they needed something to boost morale. As Brienne made to turn around, Lady Sansa called her name. “Lady Brienne, may I speak to you for a moment?”

Jaime looked to Brienne and smiled, “I’ll find you later on, my lady.”

Brienne nodded to him, returning his easy smile. She was warmed by the fact he seemed so eager to spend time with her here, even if she had to remind herself that it was probably only because she was one of three people here who did not want him dead. She watched as he left the room, and approached Lady Sansa when they were the only two remaining.

“I trust you know what you are doing where Ser Jaime is concerned,” probed Sansa.

“I do, my lady. There is nobody I trust more to fight alongside. I know him well,” she said, trying not to blush as she did.

“I can see that,” Sansa said, a small smile appearing at her lips. “You never told me the two of you were so close. I did not know the lengths he had gone to to protect the two of us.”

“We weren’t at first, my lady. I was merely serving your lady mother, returning him to King’s Landing in order to bring you and your sister home. I’d never known somebody as unbearable as him at first, and I could have killed him on many an instance on our travels.”

Sansa laughed. “I suppose people grow on you. Especially if they act to protect you. I don’t claim to trust Ser Jaime, nor do I claim to like him, but I can see that he truly feels for you, Brienne. I’m glad you have a good man in your life to look out for you.”

“He doesn’t _feel_ for me,” Brienne corrected her, blushing. “We have an understanding, that’s all. If he hadn’t lost his hand because of me, he wouldn’t spend half as much time around me. Sometimes I think he serves only to annoy me, to make me suffer like he did at the hands of Locke.”

“You don’t suffer though, do you? You like being around him, I can tell.” Sansa laughed. “You don’t see it how I do, but it’s clear that Ser Jaime admires you. I think he’d be too proud to ever admit it, but his actions speak for themselves. It's apparent to anybody looking in from the outside.”

“He doesn’t _admire_ me,” Brienne urged, embarrassed.

“Oh, but he does, Brienne!” Sansa replied. “And I think you feel the same, no?”

Brienne blushed, taken aback by Sansa’s words. _Am I so transparent? Can everybody see how I feel towards him?_ “I– I– I respect Ser Jaime. He is a good man and I’m pleased to be acquainted with him, but–”

“Lady Brienne, I won’t pry if you don’t want me to. You don’t need to share it with me, but it’s so lovely to see two people truly feel for each other. The way he looks at you and you at him, it reminds me of my lord father and lady mother.”

“You– you mustn’t speak of this to anyone else,” Brienne hated to presume to tell Sansa what she mustn’t do, but she was adamant that she did not spread it. “Forgive me, my lady. I simply _can’t_ have him hear this from you, or anybody, please. It would be far too embarrassing.”

“You can trust me as I trust you, Brienne. I won’t speak a word of it to anyone, and it certainly would not be my place to speak of it to Ser Jaime himself.” Sansa smiled warmly at her.

“My thanks,” Brienne tried to smile back but she was sure it resembled more closely a grimace as she tried to war with her embarrassment. “I think you’re wrong where he’s concerned though. I admit, I feel _something_ with regards to Ser Jaime, much as I’ve tried to deny it to myself, but a man of Ser Jaime’s ilk would have no business with a woman such as me.”

“You are too harsh on yourself, Brienne. I can see I won’t be able to convince you, so Ser Jaime himself will have to convince you. When you’re in his company next, just observe the way he acts towards you. I promise you, he cares for you more deeply than you believe.

“It’s just a shame this fight has come at such a bad time for you both. Go find him, Brienne. If you can’t _be_ with him, at least be _with_ him whilst you can. You deserve all the happiness this life has left to offer you, and, if that’s with Ser Jaime, you need to make the most of what time you have with him. And that’s an order, Brienne,” Sansa smiled at her playfully, satisfied to have got a confession out of Brienne.

“Yes, my lady,” Brienne said, half curtsying, half bowing as she turned to leave. _She’s wrong. She couldn’t be further from the truth,_ she thought to herself as she walked through the empty hallway. _You’ve done well to keep your feelings close to your chest, don’t go spilling them now. He does not, nor will he ever, feel the same._

She had been harbouring feelings for Ser Jaime for, well, she wasn’t quite sure how long. _Too_ long. There was no way she was about to ruin her friendship with him now when death stood in their way. _He would never look at me the same again_. She vowed not to tell him, for the sake of her own feelings, but she allowed herself to spend her remaining time with him, whether that be weeks, days, hours or merely minutes. And, so, she tried to find him.

It was Jaime who found her, however, many hours later. She had given up after half an hour of looking for him, deciding her time would be better spent in the yard with Pod. It never ceased to amaze Brienne how fast time went when she had Oathkeeper in hand, sparring with somebody. It was only ever when she stopped that she realised how tiring it was to fight. She had been standing over Pod, ready to ask him to yield once again when she noticed Jaime approaching. She hurriedly put Oathkeeper back into its scabbard and turned to him.

“Lady Brienne, I trust everything was okay with Lady Sansa. I hope she did not trouble you too much about my position,” he said as he approached her. She knew he was talking about his position in the battle, but all she could think of was what Lady Sansa had said to her about his _feelings_.

“Not at all, she simply wanted to talk to me whilst she had me there. Nothing important,” she said.

“I’m glad; I would hate to see you get grief on my behalf. I’ve just been to the godswood, I hope you don’t mind. I know I said I’d come to you after you spoke with Lady Sansa but something in me made me certain I needed to pray and there was no sept about so I had to make do.”

“I did not know you were a man of prayer.”

“Usually, I’m not. I gave up on the gods long ago when I thought I’d done all I could to turn them against me. Something about being here, now, alive… having a purpose again, something to fight for, I guess I’ve thought of it as a gift from the gods. I’ve apologised for my sins and, whilst I might be a far cry away from absolution, I think this fight is a chance to redeem myself before them.” Jaime smiled.

“I’m pleased you’ve found time to rekindle your relationship with them. It would not do to face death at odds with the gods. I ought to pray myself, in a while. I think I could use a helping hand from the Warrior.”

“If I were not so sure you were human, I’d think you the Warrior incarnate yourself.”

“Don’t mock me, ser,” Brienne said.

“That was never my intention. I merely meant to say that you are the person I’d choose to fight beside every time; you're truly the best fighter I know.”

“Thank you.” Brienne did not know what else to say.

Fortunately, she had no time to think before Tormund Giantsbane made his enormous presence known. “Brienne of Tarth!”

“Oh. Hello, Tormund,” she returned, less enthusiastically. “Ser Jaime, this is Tormund Giantsbane. Tormund, Ser Jaime Lannister,” she introduced the two men as they eyed one another up.

“What a woman, eh?” Tormund said to Jaime, his eyes shooting towards Brienne. “And what business would a man like you, killer of kings, have with a woman like this?”

“Lady Brienne and I go back a long way. Much longer than the two of you, I assure you,” Jaime said, eyes narrowed. _Just observe the way he acts towards you._ Sansa’s earlier words echoed in Brienne’s head as she watched the two men interact. _It’s almost like he’s staking a claim on me_ , the thought came to her, unbidden.

“You didn’t answer my question, pretty boy. A big woman like Brienne needs a big man like me; you’re wasting your time with her.”

“Whilst I thank you for the compliment, giant,” Jaime was fully glaring at him now, “I trust _Lady_ Brienne can decide what she does or does not need for herself.”

“I _need_ the two of you to act like men grown,” Brienne cut in, unsure what was unfolding before her. It seemed the two men needed their heads banging together. Who would have thought it? A giant and a knight butting heads over Brienne of Tarth.

“Apologies, my lady. I meant no offence to your giant friend.” Jaime then turned to Tormund. “I apologise, Giantsbane. A friend of Lady Brienne’s is a friend of mine.”

Tormund huffed loudly but held his large hand out to shake Jaime’s golden one. “We might be on the same side, but Tormund Giantsbane does not befriend rivals.

“I’ll see you later, Brienne,” Tormund said, his voice laced with an underlying attempt at seduction which made Brienne cringe. She managed to nod a farewell to him but dared not look at Jaime.

“I had no idea you had wildling companions.”

“I don’t. Tormund is… well, not a companion, that’s for sure. He looks at me and sees a big woman; all I am to him is a novelty,” Brienne explained, hoping Jaime would read her disinterest between the lines.

“I wouldn’t be sure that’s all you are to him. That’s a man who knows what he wants and, Brienne, you must be careful. Those north of The Wall are different; he won’t treat you like a lady, that’s for sure.”

“And why is that any of your concern?” Brienne asked, surprised at her own boldness.

“Might I remind you that I lost my hand protecting your virtue once? I wouldn’t want that to have been in vain,” Jaime retorted sharply.

Brienne was ashamed of herself. “My apologies, Ser Jaime.” _Of course that’s all he was concerned about, I was a fool to convince myself it might be jealousy_.

“I think we can do away with the pleasantries now, Brienne. Call me Jaime,” he smiled, lightening the mood again. He looked up at the sky, only to see the sun about to set. “Gods, the days are so short here. I remember being fascinated the last time I was here by the brevity of daylight. You missed sunrise, my lady, but at least you’re here for sundown.”

“Yes. It is a beautiful sight.”

“Truly,” Jaime breathed, watching as the remaining light danced along the walls of Winterfell before falling beneath them. “I bet sundown is a sight to behold on your beloved Tarth.”

“It’s mesmerising. I’m sure you would have found it equally stunning.”

“I’m sure I would,” Jaime agreed.

_The sunset might be a sight to behold, but the man before me puts it to shame_ , Brienne thought to herself as she turned back towards him. _Perhaps in another life, if I were more womanly and more suited to him, we might have shared many sunsets together on Tarth._

Brienne tried fruitlessly to push her own thoughts out of her head. “Should we dine, ser?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Jaime laughed.


	7. For the Living

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is my least favourite chapter of them all; it's an attempt to bridge the gap between the last chapter and the battle, but it's more of a filler than anything else so I'm not particularly happy with it. 
> 
> I promise the next few chapters have a bit more going for them, though, so please don't stop reading after this one!

_I have seen my last sunset_.

Jaime looked to Brienne across the table in shock. She looked back at him, wordlessly. Bran Stark was addressing the hall, but stood in brief silence as men and women throughout the room took in the information. After several moments of whispers and frantic voices, Bran raised a hand to silence them. “As I said, I have seen their arrival. They come tonight. We have less than three hours before they descend upon Winterfell. Do what you must to ready yourselves. We fight tonight.”

 _We die tonight_.

Jaime did not fear death, but even he felt a chill slither down his spine. His eyes met Brienne’s and he saw a fear upon her face that he had never seen. The typical fiery light in her sapphire-blue eyes had dimmed somewhat, and he saw that her lips were trembling, though she tried to stop them. Not knowing what else to do, he reached out with his left hand and placed it on the hand she was anxiously tapping the table with, hoping it might be a small comfort. He could feel a tremor in her fingers even after she'd stopped tapping, but she did naught to move her hand away from his own.

She smiled at him, a small, terrified smile. “This is it then.”

“This is it,” he sighed. For a moment, they simply sat there with their hands connected, neither knowing what else to say. The rest of the room seemed to be following suit, the previously joyful atmosphere replaced with one of sheer terror. Across the room, men could not bear to look at each other, whilst the women beside them trembled. But there was no noise; there was no crying.

Then, the sound of a wooden chair scraping against the stone floor alerted everyone to the dwarf at the head table. “Yes, yes, this is all very morbid. Frankly, I’m terrified and I’m not even permitted to fight!” Tyrion laughed dryly as he spoke to the room. Jaime felt a surge of love for his brother. He always was the witty Lannister; he knew the right thing to say in every situation.

“We might be facing inevitable death, but for now we are living, and we are fighting for the living. Cry, yell, scream, let your fears and your angers out now, but bring your life to the battlefield. The dead are simply that: dead. They have no strategy other than to kill. But we, the people, the living, we are so much more. Your individual quirks and talents and techniques, the lives that have led each of you to be sitting in this hall right now, everything you have experienced in life, take it with you. We have more to fight for – a hell of a lot more to lose. May the gods be on our side tonight. Fight for your life, and fight for the lives of those around you. Fight for the lives of those who have sadly departed and for those who have yet to exist. Fight for your futures, and for the future of the Seven Kingdoms. Live or die, I want each and every one of you to be proud of your contribution to this fight. You are all, truly, the best of humanity.”

Tyrion paused briefly to pick up his goblet. Raising it to the room, he shouted, “FOR THE LIVING”, before guiding it to his lips, taking a deep mouthful.

Nobody responded at first; perhaps they were all still struck with fear. Jaime was the first to rise from his seat, the pride he felt for his brother encouraging him to stand up, even in front of a room full of people who despised him. “For the living!” he cried, following Tyrion’s lead and taking a sip of wine.

Before he had even swallowed, he felt the table beside him shake and was surprised to see Brienne awkwardly getting to her feet. The fear was still visible in her eyes, but he also saw a resolve there, a determination, and he knew the warrior within had returned to her. Her voice was soft and much quieter than the Lannisters’ had been, but nonetheless, she joined in. “For the living!”

Jaime heard a tremor in her voice, but he felt immensely proud of her in that moment, for, as she raised the goblet to her lips, taking a sip of her water, the majority of the room rose to its feet as well.

“FOR THE LIVING!”

Men and women alike, small townsfolk and the high-born families at the head table, young and old cried out in unison and the mood in the room instantly lifted. _Incredible_ , Jaime thought. His brother really knew how to boost morale.

Perhaps it was the fact that most people had chugged down the remaining wine in their goblets, or maybe it was that Tyrion’s words had inspired people to overcome their fear, but the mood in the room was optimistic again. The fear remained palpable, but everybody seemed to be embracing it, channelling their anxieties into a determination. _We’re all going to die_ , Jaime thought, at ease. _But we'll be damned if we go down without a good fight.  
_

He felt his blood singing in anticipation; it had been a while since his last battle, and he’d never been involved in a fight of this scale before. Nobody here had. He welcomed the familiar thrill of war. Perhaps it was silly of him, but he was almost excited to fight against what would no doubt be his toughest opponent yet with his left hand; Jaime Lannister loved a challenge.

He looked to Brienne who was talking animatedly to Pod, seemingly giving him a last-minute run through of their battle plan. He knew she feared for him. Although Pod had come on in leaps and bounds since becoming her squire, he was still inexperienced in real battle. Incredibly, Pod did not look scared at all; in fact, the only thing Jaime could read on his face was the deep-seated respect he held for Brienne. He took in every word she was saying, nodding at the right times and responding assuredly when she asked anything of him. Jaime had no doubts that Pod would lay down his life for Brienne should it come to it.

 _That makes two of us_ , Jaime thought.

Although he had asked Brienne to promise she would not try to defend him should he come under attack, he had not promised her the same. She was the reason he had come here after all, and, perhaps it was the fact that they were quite literally hours away from staring death in the face, but he felt a surge of emotions he had never felt for anybody before. He knew that, when the time came, he would gladly give his life for hers.

_I love her._

Though he had tried to repress his feelings, it dawned on Jaime that these unexplored emotions were no less intense than they would have been had he fully embraced them.

It was suddenly difficult to look at Brienne upon this realisation. Though he knew she would not feel the same, the selfish part of him wanted to tell her of his newly acknowledged feelings. _It’s not the time_ , he thought. _There will never come a time where it might be right_. He could not announce something so absurd to her before the battle, even if he could physically utter the words, and there would be no _afterwards_. No, she had bigger things to worry about than matters of the heart. In fact, Jaime was somewhat relieved that he could take these feelings to the grave; if she never knew, she could never reject him.

“–right, Ser Jaime?” Brienne’s sapphire eyes seemed to gaze right into his soul and his stomach knotted.

“Sorry, my lady?” Jaime was embarrassed to have been caught deep in thought. “My thoughts were elsewhere.” _On you. On us._

“I was just telling Pod that the three of us are to stick together as best we can. There might come a time tonight where Pod has to step up to help one of us lead.” Pod, meanwhile, had turned his attention to another soldier on the table behind them.

“Might have to help _you_ , Brienne. You know I’m essentially a lost cause.”

“Don’t, ser.”

“Jaime,” he corrected her. “You know, Brienne, you’re going to miss your chance. I’m going to die tonight and you’ll never once have called me by my name. Just Jaime.”

“Just Jaime,” she smiled. “And you are just.”

“That was not what I meant," Jaime replied, although he appreciated the praise, even if he didn't believe it.

“I know,” she said. “But I meant it.”

He felt something tighten in his _chest. How could I have thought this feeling anything but love?_

“Brienne,” he started, taking in a deep breath. “If tonight is where my journey ends, which it surely will be, I need you to know how thankful I am that Lady Catelyn left me in your capable hands. I can only imagine the pitiful existence I would have lived had you not inspired me to change my ways: vile and repulsive and every bit the man without honour most men think of me. It’s because of you that I could reconcile with my gods; it’s because of you that I can die believing I’m almost a good man, despite everything. I thank you, my lady, for being exactly as you are, for being everything good in this world.”

Brienne looked stunned. “You were a good man before me; don’t give me credit where it is not due. You've always been a man of honour, you just don’t see yourself clearly. I– I'm thankful too.”

Jaime knew not what to say, and so he merely placed his hand over hers again, and gave her a small smile. _So pure_ , he thought. _Luck was on my side the day the gods put us on the same path._ He knew not what he had done to deserve a woman as good as Brienne to think so highly of him, but he was thankful for it all the same.

“I’m glad I shared my last sunset with you,” he murmured eventually.

“It was a beauty,” Brienne said. Jaime noticed an appealing blush appear on her cheeks as she spoke. _You’re the beauty_ , he thought, damning himself for not admitting it to himself earlier.

She carried on, “I’m glad too. To have shared it with you, I mean. I'm glad you'll be by my side tonight.”

“Likewise, my lady.”

Neither of them said another word, neither daring to speak what they both so tangibly felt. It suddenly became so clear to both of them that they dared not speak it into existence. They both loved, yet loved too late, and now was not the time to embrace something so intense. Instead, they resigned themselves to this moment, hands together, each speaking with their eyes what they daren’t with their mouths. There was nobody they would rather fight beside. Nobody they would rather _die_ beside.

The army of the dead marched on.


	8. Life vs. Death

Searing pain, aching limbs and the screams of his fellow fighters were all Jaime had known for hours. And it had been hours, hadn’t it? Or maybe merely minutes. The concept of time was meaningless in battle, and the dead were relentless. All Jaime could say with absolute certainty was that this was the worst experience of his life.

He’d fought off countless of the repulsive dead things that had swarmed into Winterfell, but many had already left their mark on him. He’d been bitten twice – thrice? He could not tell one pain from the other; a bite was the same as a bruise, a bruise the same as a scratch, a scratch the same as a gash. His entire body was ablaze with pain and more fatigued than ever, but there was nothing to do but keep fighting. At one point, fighting with his left hand had been tiresome, but he found himself now in the familiar stride of swordfight, swinging his weak hand in a rhythm only the most skilful swordsmen employed. He swung left, sending one of the wights careering in the opposite direction, thrashing into three more of the dead and momentarily knocking them down. Jaime had no time to think before he was required to act again, plunging Widow’s Wail through the abdomen of one which had lunged itself towards him. Relief quickly returned to vigilance; there was no time to celebrate little victories. He had to remain attentive.

Battle came naturally to Jaime, but he’d always struggled with the mental turmoil. Most of the time, he moved instinctively, his body automatically moving to defend itself. Occasionally, however, his brain awoke and he’d feel distressing, panicky thoughts turbulently force their way to the fore of his mind and he’d be caught off-guard. Most of his mental unease lay with Brienne of Tarth. He knew she was fine, better than he was anyway, but he could do naught to ease the worry he felt. All around them, fallen comrades littered the floor and death was very much at their throats. It was all too real and too unpredictable, and Jaime couldn’t help but do everything he had left in him to protect the lady he had allowed himself to love.

She was, after all, his reason for coming, his reason for fighting, and, now, his reason for surviving. Jaime Lannister had been at ease with the notion of his own death for a long time, but he’d finally allowed himself to feel what he knew he had felt for years and, suddenly, he did not want to die. Before the fight, he’d looked into Brienne's sapphire eyes and they had stared back into his soul; he knew then, in that one look, that she felt something for him too. It was unbelievable, and he was unworthy, but he knew it to be true. He’d seen recognition flash in her own eyes too, as if she could see right through to the love he had so carefully stepped around for so long. And now they were fighting. Not just for the living, but for themselves and for the future they deserved to share.

Back to back now, Jaime could feel Brienne’s every action. They moved as one, every step that one of them made carefully matched by the other, a perfect mirror image. Death came from every direction but the pair swiftly struck down the oncoming offenders, turning in a graceful circle, their backs always connected. Jaime had always likened swordfight to dancing, but it had never been more appropriate than in this moment. He felt the intimacy of dance and the thrill of fighting, every move a perfectly choreographed piece of their enduring duet. Amongst the snarls of death and the singing of steel, Jaime was comforted by the determined cries that left Brienne’s lips whenever Oathkeeper met rotting flesh. As long as he could hear her, she was okay.

Jaime felt every bit the golden lion as he fought, but somehow, simultaneously, he felt more crippled than ever. He fought for the knight he had always hoped to be, but he longed for the swordhand he so desperately missed. Widow’s Wail tore a chunk out of a wight’s head, the wight of a girl who could have been no older than three and ten, taking off its ear in one gruesome millisecond. Jaime turned and Brienne stepped with him as he took out another through its unbeating heart, dodging the blade held by yet another wight by a mere inch. He heard Brienne cry out once again, and a decapitated head rolled over the blood-stricken ground towards Jaime’s feet, its cold eyes staring lifelessly into his own.

“Good job, keep going!” It was all that Jaime had time to say before he struck downward, Widow’s Wail slicing the wight before him down the middle as easy as a knife through softened butter. The dead were unyielding, the living outnumbered. Men were dropping like flies but the dead simply kept coming. They sliced and struck and slashed at them, but Jaime and Brienne were no closer to victory than they had been to begin with.

It was difficult to see through the frenzy of rotting bodies, but Jaime sought out Pod to his left. He was fighting valiantly, holding his own well enough but he had no Valyrian steel nor dragonglass to truly defeat them, and so he was relying on the bowmen atop the towers of Winterfell to come to his aid. The fiery arrows came down almost rhythmically, and it was a sight to behold. Every time Pod knocked more than five to the ground, the flames engulfed them almost instantly. In the light of fire, Jaime thought that Pod looked every bit a shining knight, surrounded by defeated foes.

Jaime tore his gaze away from the squire just in time to defend himself, severing the swordhand of his attacker. _See how you like that, you bastard_. He felt a phantom pulse at the vacancy of his own swordhand, suddenly mimicked by the vacancy he now felt at his back. Brienne had swiftly ended their dance, and Jaime turned just in time to see her lunging forward, Oathkeeper outstretched, impaling the abomination attacking her. If he’d likened Pod to a knight, Brienne was something else entirely. She moved with ease and agility; graceful and elegant yet ruthless and lethal. Beguiling but deadly. Never had Jaime seen anything of her like, and he could not help himself from comparing her to the Maiden, to the Warrior. _My gods are with me_ , he thought, as he watched her mercilessly slay another three wights with apparent ease. _Otherworldly._ Jaime had thought of her as too good for this world on countless occasions, but, watching her now, he had never been more convinced of her divinity. He had never worshipped her more.

She turned to him, using the brief respite to wipe the rotting guts off Oathkeeper on the snow-covered grass below, and he watched as her eyes widened. “Behind you!” she cried.

He hit the ground with an ‘ooph’, having been tackled from behind by two wights. They were heavy and aggressive and murderous, biting and clawing at him. He managed to flip himself onto his back, kicking one of them away as he did so. The other one dropped to the left of him, its now-severed arm to the right of him. Brienne towered above him, her back to him as she made short work of the one he had kicked aside. Jaime awkwardly shuffled on the ground towards where Widow’s Wail had been knocked from his hand and pushed himself back onto his feet with great difficulty. He was growing weary. _I’m too old for this. Too weak._

“Don’t you dare give up on me!” Brienne of Tarth was by his side once again, a stern expression on her face. “I know that look in your eyes. You have to keep fighting.” She fought off another one of the dead, impaling it, and Jaime watched as its lifeless body slid down to join the countless other carcasses on the floor. _This is going to be hellish to clean up_ , he thought, although he was not convinced anybody would live long enough to have to bother with that. “Promise me, Jaime.”

“You said my name,” he marvelled at her, as the adrenaline coursing through his veins made him suddenly delirious. “Just Jaime.”

“Jaime,” she said again, though this time with more urgency. Her back was to him now, standing in front of him defensively as she butchered another before turning back to him. “You have to concentrate! Promise me you’ll focus. I can’t do this alone.”

He fought the delirium off as he simultaneously fought off two wights, skilfully cutting through them both in one move. He turned to look her in the eyes, knowing she needed to hear him say it. “I promise, Brienne. I’m here.”

She nodded, hearing what she needed to hear, and the fight continued. It might have been several hours or several days, but still they fought on. Cutting and parrying and striking and thrusting and stabbing; dodging and ducking and screaming and bleeding and aching. It was like nothing any of them had ever known; no amount of preparation could have readied anybody for a fight like this. It was brutal agony and mental anguish. They were wishing for death, but unwilling to succumb to it. With every wave of wights killed, another wave came upon them with a fresh bout of energy and a bloodlust to match. Brienne was incredible, Jaime less so. Pod to their left was still courageously holding his own, but his speed was waning and his accuracy fading. The rest of their men had dwindled in number, gruesomely butchered to death.

A group of fifty, maybe sixty, more wights came hurtling towards those who remained on the left flank, outnumbering them by at least thirty. _This is it_ , Jaime thought, wielding Widow’s Wail as if he stood a chance in hell. But, before the wights could reach them, three dozen flaming arrows struck many of them down, and, as the rest continued running, they ran straight into their blazing comrades. The dead were all on fire. The living took a shared shaky breath of relief.

“We need to move. Now! We n–”

Brienne’s next sentence was cut off by an awful screeching. The sound was deafening, and it seemed to be getting closer. Thankful that their attackers had grown scarce for the time being, Jaime and Brienne shared a look of confusion. Other survivors did the same. The sound was unlike anything any of them had heard before, but it was menacing and they knew to be afraid. As the wailing grew louder, another more rhythmic beating was audible, like a drum, and the wind began to blow in time to the beat.

But it wasn’t wind, and it wasn’t a drum; that much became clear when the battlefield was illuminated. Where the Dothraki and the Unsullied had been formerly arranged, Jaime saw only corpses of men and horses, lots of blood and severed body parts. He felt grief for those he had never known, but who had fought for the same cause nonetheless. But his grief was quickly overshadowed by sheer terror. Battlefields don’t just light up of their own accord, and the winds don’t blow with a formidable screech.

The light was dragonfire; the dragonfire was blue. The winds were a fearful product of red-umber wings, spanning 60 feet, beating in the nightsky to keep the astonishing beast high above Winterfell. _It can’t be_ , thought Jaime. And, yet, it was. The Targaryen girl’s third dragon lived on, undead. Its fearsome blue eyes were evidence enough of its allegiance to the dead, and Jaime resigned himself. The fight was all but lost. Wailing again, the dragon’s roar pierced the frigid air whilst its fire roasted their dead former allies. But the dragon, seemingly unsatisfied, continued to soar around Winterfell, seeking to kill. Dragonfire blazed all around them, but no screams could be heard over the sound of Viserion’s beating wings. Jaime had avoided death by dragonfire once before, but no luck in the world would surely help him evade it again.

“Retreat! Get inside the walls, NOW!” Brienne cried out. Her men did not need telling twice. Jaime Lannister did.

“That’s the worst thing you could do, Brienne! Winterfell will burn and us along with it!” Jaime shouted, although he saw no alternative.

“What are we supposed to do, ser? Wait out here to be cooked? Get inside, defend the archers; they’re our best bet now,” she commanded, and Jaime had to obey. Pod rejoined them as they ran through piles of debris and dead bodies, the rest of their men running in front of them, their head-start proving valuable. The portcullis was raised and the gates opened to allow the first wave of men in, and Brienne was pleased to see them safely inside before her.

Icy blue. Searingly hot. Dragonfire was ablaze before them, and the trio were forced to a halt before they reached the gates themselves. “Shit!” Brienne shouted, looking helplessly at Jaime. “What now?”

Truthfully, Jaime had no idea and so he said nothing. He merely watched as Viserion slowly descended, gliding down to the ground in a graceful spiral, stopping less than one hundred yards away from them. Jaime gripped Widow’s Wail tighter, and took a determined step forward.

“Don’t. You. Dare.” Brienne’s hand was at Jaime’s right arm, holding him back. “Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t.”

“Brienne, listen to me,” he said, looking her in the eyes with an ardent intensity she had never seen before. “I can’t kill it, but I can distract it. That’ll give you and Pod enough time to get inside the gates.”

“It’s suicide, Jaime!”

“We both knew I wouldn’t survive this fight! Let me do this. Let me help you.” His voice was merely a whisper by the end of his sentence.

“You think killing yourself is going to _help_ me?!” Brienne cried, incredulous. “For fuck’s sake, Jaime! Don’t you think you’ve done enough to protect me?!”

He looked at her and was surprised to see tears beginning to well in her eyes, as glorious as the sapphire waters of Tarth... but it broke Jaime to see them so hurt.

“You can’t die, Jaime. You can’t leave me. _Please_ don’t leave me.” A lone tear escaped, slipping down her cheek. She raised a hand to wipe it away, embarrassed, barely able to look him in the eyes.

Overcome with a wave of emotion, Jaime simply nodded and stepped towards her, resting his forehead against her own. Breathing deeply, he spoke, “I won't, I promise. I’m yours to command.” _I’m yours_ , he thought, _for as long as I live._

But that was not like to be long.

Viserion was advancing on them, each and every footstep causing the ground to tremor, crushing the corpses below with a sickening crunch of bones. Jaime pulled away from Brienne and they wielded their twin swords, a last-gasp union in the face of certain death. They stood in wait as the beast slowly approached them, knowing it could burn them to ash at any moment. But no fire came. Instead, Viserion leapt into the air and took flight again, circling Winterfell once before descending with a frightening rapidity in their direction. They had no time to move. Even if they had, they were both fixed in place by sheer fear.

The dragon swooped low, beating Pod to the ground with a thud and knocking him out cold. Jaime ran to him, instinctively, whilst Brienne remained in the same spot, turning to watch as the dragon took to the air once again. Utterly fixated, she watched as the dragon circled Winterfell a second time, before plummeting down towards her again.

Jaime, who was on his knees, relieved to have found Pod’s pulse, looked on in fear as Brienne stood her ground before the dragon. He was too far away to do anything, but Brienne looked too terrified to move. Dead, glacier-blue eyes probed living, sapphire eyes. Before Jaime could even get off his knees, Viserion’s formidable mouth opened wide, baring its ginormous, razor-sharp teeth to Brienne, a low rumble sounding at the back of its throat.

 _No!_ Jaime thought, unable to speak aloud. He knew the rumble was the prelude to the fire, but all he could do was watch, paralysed, as Brienne bravely thrust Oathkeeper through the roof of Viserion’s mouth, the blade emerging between its ghostly eyes. Its scream was deafening as Brienne tugged Oathkeeper out, ready to strike again. The dragon shook its head from side to side in agony, but Brienne was a highborn maid, and she knew how to dance. Timed to perfection, she dodged out of the way of danger, jabbing Oathkeeper first into Viserion’s left eye, and then into its right eye.

_What the fuck is she playing at?!_

Blinded, Viserion could do naught but beat its wings in the hope to swipe its attacker out of the way, but Brienne skilfully dodged the blows on each side. By this point, Jaime was halfway to her, ready to push her aside and throw her over his shoulder, but Brienne had other ideas. She heard his footsteps and turned to glare at him. “Get back!”

“You get back!” he shouted in return. “It can’t see you anymore. Make a run for it!”

But she did not. Viserion opened its mouth wide once again, the rumble louder this time, and Jaime saw the icy flames form at the back of its throat.

 _Stubborn wench!_ He carried on forward, fully aware that he could be wiped out by dragonfire at any moment, but Brienne moved faster. She leapt to one side, evading the flames, and swung Oathkeeper down with all of her might on Viserion’s neck. As strong as Valyrian steel is, though, dragon hide was stronger, and so she had to keep hacking away at its neck. The noise of the dragon's roars were unbearable. Once, twice, thrice… Jaime lost count of her strikes, watching on in equal parts admiration and terror as his companion manically and heroically took on a dragon. An undead dragon.

But, then, miraculously, impossibly, Viserion really was dead. Its colossal head hit the ground with an almighty thump and rolled towards Brienne, whilst the rest of its body slumped to the ground with an equally loud sound. Brienne stepped away from the decapitated head and turned to Jaime, her bright eyes wild and fearful. She dropped Oathkeeper and sank to her knees whilst tears streamed from her eyes.

Jaime sprinted towards her and fell to his own knees, dropping Widow’s Wail as he did so, and enveloping her in a hug. He tucked her head under his chin and rubbed her back with his short right arm. He had not donned his golden hand for battle; it was an unnecessary weight.

“Hey, it’s alright. It’s alright, Brienne. I’m here. You’re okay. You’re alright. You did it. It can't hurt you now,” he murmured, hoping he was at least somewhat comforting. He could feel her trembling against his chest, but, then again, he was trembling too. Without thinking about what it could possibly mean to either of them, he placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head and rested his own head on the top of hers. “You’ve just slayed a bloody dragon, Brienne. A dragon! You’re unbelievable.” He murmured the last part, but it was mostly to himself.

He felt her laugh, a small, whimpering laugh, but a laugh nonetheless, and he knew she would be alright. “Come on, my lady. We need to get inside the gates; we’re sitting ducks out here.”

She nodded and he removed his arms from around her. They both helped each other to their feet, and they stood facing each other for a moment, their faces mere inches apart. Jaime lifted his left hand to her face, stroking her cheek softly, but Brienne swiftly ducked out of the way upon feeling the contact, averting her gaze. Jaime’s heart sank at the rejection, but there was no time to dwell on it. _Perhaps I was mistaken_ , he thought, desperately sad as he made his way over to Pod.

He shook the boy twice before his eyes flickered open and a gasp escaped his lips. “What happened? Is milady alright?”

Jaime placed his left hand on Pod’s shoulder to stop him from moving too aggressively. “You were taken out by the dragon, but there’s no need to worry. Lady Brienne took care of it.” He gestured towards the dragon’s remains, and Pod gasped at its severed head before turning to Brienne.

“You – you killed that thing? You did that?”

“Apparently,” Brienne replied quietly, her eyes distant. “I don’t know what came over me, I hardly remember thinking about it let alone doing it. One minute I was in front of it, the next I had its head off.”

“Amazing!” Pod cried, as Jaime allowed him to sit up straight. “Gods, that’s impressive…”

“It was actually rather excruciating to watch, Pod. It’s probably best you didn’t see it,” Jaime replied. “Can you move or am I going to have to carry you? We need to get inside the gates before more of them turn up.”

“I can move,” Pod asserted, slowly getting to his feet. He readjusted his scabbard as he stood and nodded, before Brienne led the way inside the gates. Taking one last glance back at the defeated dragon, Jaime straightened himself up again too, before following the two of them, ready for the next bout of chaos to ensue.

All they could do was continue to fight for their lives.


	9. Survival

Safely inside the walls of Winterfell, Jaime took a moment to catch his breath. He was still trying his damnedest to comprehend what he’d just witnessed of Brienne, but he was struggling. _She’s stronger than everybody within these walls put together_.

Jaime urged himself to think about something else, better yet, to think of nothing, because thinking of Brienne was hurting him. This deathly fight was no place to be deliberating over his emotions, and he knew that even the death of Viserion was nothing in the grand scheme of the battle. Gigantic though the dragon was, its death was meaningless if they were all to perish eventually anyway. _We must keep on._

“Man the walls!” Brienne shouted, trying to spur her men back into action, but her command carried less intensity than earlier. The brief reprieve they so gratefully received upon the gates closing on them was necessarily cut short. They had no more time to waste.

“You heard her, man the walls!” Jaime shouted. “Come on! Get moving! Go!”

The men dispersed in different directions, ensuring every length of the wall was manned. Jaime followed Brienne up the nearest stairs to the ramparts. A northern archer turned to him in distress. “They’re pressed against the walls! Our arrows are useless from here!”

Jaime nodded, turning.

“Okay, soldiers!” he yelled, his voice echoing across the Winterfell courtyard. He had no doubts that everyone could hear him. “Relieve the archers! Archers, I want you further up! Chances are they’ll penetrate the walls within minutes so I want you all in place, okay?”

He heard shouts of ‘aye’ in response.

“Soldiers take over, archers on top!” Pod cried, trying to rally the men who were closest to him. Those within the walls of Winterfell scrambled to obey the orders as the foot-soldiers got into position at the top of the walls.

Jaime looked to Brienne, but she looked somewhat defeated. He knew the prior events were getting to her, and so he’d taken it upon himself to shout orders as her second-in-command. “Okay, my lady?” he asked, though he knew she was not.

“Okay,” she uttered meekly, but she drew Oathkeeper anyway, the usual steely determination slowly returning to her eyes. “They’re climbing, ser.”

“They’re climbing,” he agreed. “Prepare yourselves!” he yelled to their army. “Draw your swords!”

Jaime’s eyes widened as he watched the dead ascend, climbing and scuttling over the top of one another like a mass of spiders. The sound of snarls filled the air and Jaime knew he could say no more to their men that they might hear. Closer now, Jaime waited as the wights climbed, until the first reached its grubby, rotting hand onto the top of the wall. He waited until it tried to hoist its upper body up and over, and then pierced it through the abdomen, causing it to tumble to the ground below.

No sooner had that one dropped to the ground than another one reached the crest of the wall, then another, then another, until they were swarming onto the ramparts. The fight resumed and Jaime deftly struck one after another down, his left hand aching more than it had ever ached. To his right, Jaime watched as one of the northmen was pulled over the wall to his death. _Shit,_ he thought, moving further from the crest of the wall, _that’s a shit way to go._ But, then again, beggars can’t be choosers, and Jaime remembered to be thankful that he still had a life left to fight for. Against all odds, he was somehow still here. He hadn’t expected to make it inside the keep at any point, so he was doing better than he gave himself credit for.

Above, he heard a dragon roar and he briefly looked to see Drogon circling overhead; he was instantly grateful that they didn’t have to worry about being attacked by _that_ one. He tried to spy Brienne through the onslaught of wights which were continuing to penetrate the walls, but it was proving difficult. He swung his sword left and right, battling them off from both sides, all the while moving forward in order to try to locate Brienne. Eventually, he found her, her head just visible above their attackers’ heads, and he swung some more to get to her side. She was outnumbered, surrounded by the wights, and she had a look upon her face the likes of which Jaime had never seen on her before. It was utter resignation.

He cut in, making short work of the wights surrounding her, piercing and swiping at them until he reached her. “Get behind me,” he said, like he’d said all those years ago in the bearpit. This time, however, she listened. She barely had the strength to lift Oathkeeper anymore, and Jaime knew it was the mental toil she was experiencing that had made her so willing to give up. Slowly, he retreated into a corner, making sure Brienne was between him and the tower wall. She dropped to the floor behind him, taking a moment to recover mentally.

Jaime had a new lease of life, his left hand slaying the his attackers with apparent ease. _It’s so much easier_ , he thought, _fighting for someone else’s life_. He knew that Brienne needed a break, needed to pull herself together before she could resume fighting; for now, he could fight for the two of them. The dead were still climbing onto the ramparts, but they had begun to slow now. On and on and on, Jaime fought tirelessly to protect Brienne, slaying one after another.

And, then, the inevitable happened.

Agony. Jaime was struck down his right side, unable to defend himself with his left hand from the angle at which the wight had attacked. _Fuck you, Locke_ , he thought, as blood dripped down his side. His armour was useless. He had been opened up from armpit to breastplate, but he had no time to dwell on it as another wight advanced on him immediately after.

“Get behind me!” Brienne was suddenly in front of him. “Jaime, you’re bleeding! Get behind me!”

“I’m fine!”

“Get _behind_ me!” She repeated, more angrily this time as she quickly readapted to fighting, her swordsmanship better than ever.

Jaime refused to allow Brienne to fight for him, and so he joined her at the side. “Be my right hand!”

Brienne looked at him, astonished, but quickly nodded in agreement. The two resumed their earlier dance, but this time side by side. Their footwork quick and in unison, their swords moving as one. Blood still oozed from Jaime’s wound, but he could ignore it as long as he had a fight to focus on. In fact, against his better judgement, he’d go as far as to say that he was enjoying himself now, even in the face of death. The combination of the thrill of so-far survival alongside fighting beside Brienne was invigorating. Jaime was probably drunk off bloodlust and adrenaline, but he could not deny the fact he felt like a boyish knight again, the golden lion of his youth reborn. It did not matter to him that he had to fight with his left hand, because he’d survived thus far and, at this point, he’d be just as like to die with a fully-functional right hand.

He felt somewhat guilty for enjoying the thrill of it all when he spared a thought for the fallen soldiers who had fought beside them so valiantly, but it was hard to properly grieve for men he had never really known. Any loss was a great loss for the living, but Jaime felt somewhat detached from it all. When he looked at the corpses of those who had fallen, he felt pity and condolence, but he could not _mourn_ for them. It upset him somewhat that these men would never receive the funeral and honours they all so rightly deserved; their loved ones could never celebrate them. His attention was quickly drawn back to the wights approaching him.

_Focus_ , he thought, as he impaled one of them on his sword. Try as he might, however, but he could not focus fully on what was right before him, because something much more sinister was occurring.

“What the–”

He didn’t know how to finish his question. In the courtyard below, Jaime could barely believe his eyes. The men who had fallen fighting for Winterfell were beginning to rise, their eyes a pale, icy blue, ready to fight for the dead. They moved awkwardly, clumsily, rising first to their knees and then unsteadily to their feet. He tore his eyes away from the alarming scenes in the courtyard just in time to stab two wights in rapid succession. A brief reprieve allowed Brienne the chance to witness the horror herself and she turned to Jaime, terrified and wordless. There was nothing they could do, except to just keep going.

_This is hopeless! Stranger, take me now_ , Jaime silently begged as he struck another wight to the ground. There was surely no way out of this. If they had not been grossly outnumbered to begin with, they certainly were now. His thoughts flashed to the boy he had thrown out of the window so many years ago; had he been right to believe the Night King would come for him? Surely if he was coming, he would have turned up by now.

Jaime was surprised to see Pod out of the corner of his eye, sprinting at high speed. Whilst Jaime was surprised to see anyone with such stamina at this point during battle, he was more concerned about what he was doing. “Podrick!” Surely he was not trying to desert them now. There was nowhere for him to go.

“The crypt, ser!” Pod cried as he continued to run across the courtyard. “They’re in the crypt!”

Jaime was confused, disappointed in the boy. He knew the weak and essentially useless amongst them (in the face of battle, at least) had been locked in the crypt, but there was no way they’d open the door for Pod. Craven or not, Pod had said he’d fight, and he was sure Brienne had taught him better than to flee.

But, almost as soon as Qhono approached Jaime with icy eyes, undead, Jaime understood. Qhono was bigger than most of the wights they had dispatched, and so Jaime struggled against him for a while, but eventually got the better of him, and the Dothraki slid to the ground, lifeless once again.

He was ashamed to have thought so little of Pod, however fleetingly it had been, but Jaime felt a sudden surge of pride at the young boy’s heroics. Of course. The crypt! How could anybody have thought the crypt to be a secure place to shelter against the dead? Sure, none of the dead outside Winterfell could penetrate those walls, but what about the dead _inside_? Jaime shuddered to think about it. Women and children, defenceless and weaponless. It would be slaughter. And Tyrion, who hadn’t been allowed to fight in the first place, would have to try to fight the bloody reanimated corpses anyway, but without a weapon and without a chance in hell.

Jaime’s thoughts were interrupted when Brienne screamed in agony beside him. A wight in Stark armour had somehow caught her by surprise. The soldier had obviously lost his leg before death took him, and so his deathly reincarnation had shuffled across the floor, crawling unseen to where Jaime and Brienne were fighting, and had bit into her right leg at the ankle, between where her greaves met her boots, taking a piece of flesh with it.

“My lady!” Jaime cried upon seeing her wound, before turning to the culprit and slicing its head off clean.

“It’s no worse than you’ve got,” Brienne shouted to Jaime, trying to continue as normal, but he could tell she was experiencing more pain than he. Her footwork was clumsier now, the resultant limp slowing her down to the point where all her movement originated at her torso. The wight had taken flesh from her leg, but with it muscle and some tendon too.

Jaime had to fight harder, giving everything he had, to relieve Brienne somewhat. He swung his sword every which angle, but his previous enthusiasm had faded to fatigue and resignation. He was at his limit. Every action pushed him further to the edge, and he knew he was close to defeat. He looked to Brienne, knowing he could not keep up the fight much longer; his time was drawing near. There was only so much his left hand could do now, and his swings were shorter and more laboured, and he was almost ready to succumb. He took in Brienne properly, wanting to see her fully for one last time. She was covered in dirt and blood and guts, but she looked more of a knight than he had ever been. But she was more than that. She was a woman, and her fear was etched deeply into her face; Jaime wanted to protect her, but this time he knew he could not. She was a braver woman than the Seven Kingdoms had ever known, and Jaime knew she would get by on her own. A beautiful warrior. A fearless maiden.

It was unfair, but he had to tell her. He suddenly couldn’t think of anything worse than dying before she knew how he felt. She deserved much more than Jaime, but she deserved to hear the way in which he adored her. It was clear that nobody had ever praised her or admired her for anything beyond the fighter within, but Jaime loved her for more than that. He loved the maiden and the warrior, the fearful, unsure side of her, and the confident bravery she took with her into battle. So complex; Jaime could hardly keep up with the multi-faceted charm of her entire being as it was, and he knew there were sides to her that he had yet to discover, but would never have the chance to. She deserved to be revered one last time.

“Brienne,” Jaime turned to her, weary and ready to give up, lowering his sword and leaving himself defenceless. Her sapphire eyes pierced into his own as if to tell him not to give up, but even Brienne knew their deaths were inevitable now. “I need to–”

But then there was silence.

He was cut off by shock. _Gods be good_ , he thought as he looked around him.

Brienne did the same, before turning back to him. “How?” She muttered, distressed.

But Jaime did not know. One second he had been ready to pour his heart out to Brienne rather selfishly, ready for death to take him, and the next... it was over. He could barely comprehend what had just happened, but, instantaneously, they had dropped to the floor, lifeless. The wights had fallen.

The living lived on.

Jaime threw Widow’s Wail to the ground, his left arm crying out in agony and relief, and it clattered off the ghastly, peeling skull of the wight which would surely have been the cause of his death had it not been for their sudden capitulation. Breathing heavily, there was nothing any of the survivors could do for a moment except take in the sight before them. Bodies everywhere. And, yet, they somehow remained alive. Against all odds, the living were victorious. Beside Jaime, Brienne sank to her knees, still wielding Oathkeeper as if the dead would rise again any minute. It had happened once, and they were not convinced it was all over. It couldn’t be that easy. Jaime rested his short, right arm on Brienne’s shoulder, hoping to be of some comfort, but she let out a sob so suddenly that she made both Jaime and herself jump.

Jaime crouched down beside her and was torn to see her so distraught. Tears were uncontrollably falling down her face and her sobs were so intense that she found herself gasping for breath. Jaime tried to rub soothing circles into her back with his weak arm. “We did it, Brienne. We’re alive.” He moved his head to rest on Brienne’s shoulder, their faces side by side. Jaime was not sure when they started, but he was soon wiping his own tears away with his left hand. _We’re alive_ , he thought to himself in disbelief. He looked around, and survivors everywhere were embracing, holding onto each other tightly as they had held onto their lives, against all odds.

Brienne was the first to recover from the tears, but there was no saying how long they had sat there crying. She turned to Jaime, maintaining their half-embrace, and cautiously reached out to wipe the tears from his eyes. She smiled at him softly, covered in gore and grazes and bruises, but Jaime had never beheld such a beautiful sight in his life. He pressed his cheek into her hand and closed his eyes, thankful for her gentle, tender touch. “You broke your promise, my lady,” he smiled at her, his tired eyes open again. A look of confusion clouded Brienne’s expression. “You swore not to defend me.”

“I was defending Winterfell,” she replied stubbornly, but the smile on her face suggested otherwise. “You kept _yours,_ though. Does that mean you’ll believe me now when I tell you you’re an honourable man?”

“I did,” Jaime said in astonishment. He had been so close to giving in and breaking his promise to her, but the Stranger obviously wasn’t ready for him just yet. He felt embarrassment swell up within him. He had been mere seconds away from confessing his feelings to Brienne, but he could not muster up the courage to do so now. _You live, fool. Tell her_ , he thought, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to deal with the consequences just yet. For now, though, he was enjoying her company and her touch. He had his life too; anything more would be asking for far too much. He had all the time in the world to cross that bridge with Brienne; their futures belonged to them once again.


	10. Aftermath

“We should get out of the cold,” Jaime said, although, pressed up against Brienne, he didn’t really feel the chill.

Brienne merely hummed in response, seemingly too worn out to say anything more. Neither of them made to move. They were sitting side by side still, on the floor of the ramparts; each of them had an arm tightly around the other, as if they were holding on for dear life. But they had their lives. The battle was won. No matter how much pain they were in, they would both pay it over and over again if it meant they kept their lives.

“Seriously, Brienne. We need to get you to a maester.”

“Podrick!” Brienne cried, completely ignoring Jaime. “He went to the crypt. I need to find him! Oh, gods. Jaime, what if–”

“Don’t. Come, let’s try to find him. Don’t worry yourself before there’s any need to.”

“But there is a need to. He’s inexperienced, Jaime! The chances of him surviving weren’t favourable.” Brienne got to her feet. Jaime felt a chill down his wounded side where she had been warming him.

“The chances of _any_ of us surviving weren’t favourable. Look at me, Brienne. If can survive that nightmare without my best hand, I’m sure a boy of Pod’s youthful vigour and training will be just fine. You practically raised the boy yourself; he was one of the better prepared amongst us.” He stood up too, reaching out with his left arm and taking her hand in his.

“We’ll go to the crypt. With any luck, Pod will have made it somewhere around there, and we can check on Sansa and my brother too.” Jaime looked into her eyes. “It’s not going to be nice, Brienne. None of this is going to be pleasant, but I’m here. I’ll be right by your side for as long as you need me.”

Unpleasant was an understatement. As the pair made their way across the ramparts and down the stairs into the main courtyard, they tiptoed past countless corpses, nearly tripping up in the process. Jaime had his left arm around Brienne’s shoulders, trying to ease some of her weight off her injured right foot, but it was difficult for him to manoeuvre two weary bodies around the mess of bodies strewn all over. It was hard to identify any of the bodies in the pre-dawn dark, but perhaps that was a good thing for now.

After successfully navigating their way across the courtyard, Jaime guided Brienne over the threshold and into Winterfell’s interior. The door had been pulled off its hinges during battle and had been cast to one side; it lay on the floor, the thick, heavy wood split and splintered. A body lay underneath, but the soldier was obviously dead. Inside, the few survivors were scattered in small groups, talking in low voices that echoed through the hall.

“Down here,” Brienne pointed with her left hand, and Jaime steered them in that direction. The closer they got to the crypt, the quieter it became. The only sounds they could hear were their breathing and their footsteps, but their breathing was much steadier than their footsteps. Jaime had had to slow their pace down this corridor as it was so dimly-lit that he nearly went flying over a body instantly, so he was now cautiously testing the ground with his feet before stepping forward. It was dark and narrow, and the smell was obscene. The stench of rotting flesh, open wounds, piss and death was consuming, and Jaime found himself choking on it on more than one occasion, his cough echoing loudly.

Brienne, at his side, let out a quiet whimper every now and then when her injured foot hit the ground unfavourably, but she never once complained of the pain. Jaime was concerned that she needed Maester Wolkan right away; they needed to get to him in the crypt fast. Unfortunately, speed was not something their weary bodies would allow, and the route to the crypt was difficult to negotiate.

Nonetheless, they finally turned the last corner and the crypt was before them. Its door was wide open; a heap of men’s corpses lay on top of one another in the doorway, as if they’d been crushed to death against the door. Jaime felt Brienne shudder at his side, and her voice was just as shaky.

“Pod.”

Jaime couldn’t blame her for fearing the worst, but the corpses wore Stark colours and Pod had not. “He’s not one of them. Look at their armour.” He squeezed her shoulder as she let out a trembling breath, before leading her forward again.

“Do you hear that?” Brienne said.

He did. Coming from beyond the open door of the crypt, there was an undeniable chatter. “They survived,” Jaime said simply, incredulous. He led her forward again, navigating his way through the trail of corpses much more eagerly than before and stepped into the crypt.

About a hundred people were crammed into the confined space, mostly women and children with tear-stricken faces. There were several corpses on the floor, but these were not those of men who had just died. They were the decaying bodies of men long-since dead, and newly burnt to a crisp; the bodies of Starks who had been laid to rest in peace at Winterfell forever. Nobody had anticipated their reanimation. It had been such an elementary oversight to send the weakest amongst them to sit with the dead, but there was naught they could do about it now. Luckily, someone must have had the quick thinking necessary to burn them, because their remains consisted of ash and the odd remnants of charred skeletons, and the room reeked of a noxious gas that could only be the product of their partial cremation.

Jaime felt it at the back of his throat once again, and he could not hold back a violent coughing fit. All eyes in the room turned to the doorway at the unexpected sound, barely believing their eyes at the unfathomable sight of two filthy, broken, battle-wounded soldiers holding onto each other, inconceivable survivors of the impossible. The pair looked on into the eyes of their fearful audience, both desperately searching for a glimpse of somebody they cared for.

“Jaime? Oh, thank the gods!”

“Oh, brother,” Jaime sobbed as Tyrion approached him. He broke down as he bent down to embrace his brother with one arm, still keeping a firm grasp on Brienne with the other. Tyrion patted him on the back,

“Lady Brienne,” Tyrion turned to her, bowing his head. “I’m so glad you both survived. Sit, please! You must be shattered.”

“Thank you, ser,” Brienne said meekly, as Tyrion gestured to the seat he had vacated, but she did not move to take it.

She was about to question whether anybody had seen Pod, when the young squire conveniently appeared in the doorway.

“My lady. Oh, thank goodness!” Podrick Payne stood awkwardly, as though debating whether or not a hug would be appropriate. Brienne broke away from Jaime, and the sudden loss of her contact hurt him more than any of the wounds he’d picked up during battle. She approached Pod as fast as she could in spite of her injured ankle, and pulled him into a tight embrace.

“Pod, I can’t tell you how relieved I am. I thought you’d ran off to your death!” She released him, standing back to look him up and down to check he had not been too badly injured. He was in the best shape of the three of them; he was filthy, his armour was dented and he had a few grazes, but nothing too serious whatsoever.

“You should be very proud of this boy; I know I am,” Tyrion declared. “He came to our aid just in time. How foolish were we to think the crypt the safest place of all? They emerged from their tombs almost simultaneously and all we had was Lady Sansa’s dagger to help us, but none of us were brave enough to wield it against them. She’s alright, by the way,” he added to Brienne, as her brows furrowed at the mention of Sansa. “Pod must have fought off gods know how many trying to get through to us, and then he was banging on our door trying to save us. He was the only one who thought to use fire against them, and he burnt each and every last one of them with a torch. He saved the lot of us.”

Jaime was mesmerised by his bravery. He was ashamed to have doubted him. “Very well done, Pod; you’re a better man than I. Thank you for saving my brother! That kind of bravery and quick-thinking, rushing to the aid of other people, that’s the stuff knights are made of.” Pod glowed at his appraisal.

“I’m proud of you, Pod. You did better than Ser Jaime and I. We were selfishly close to giving in,” Brienne told him, her fondness for him evident in her voice.

“No, you slew a dragon, milady! What I did was nothing in–”

“You did _what_?!” Tyrion responded sharply.

A look of embarrassment appeared on Brienne’s face as she struggled with the right words to reply with. Jaime spoke for her.

“She killed a dragon. The one your queen lost, it… well, it came back from the dead. She was amazing; Pod and I would be long gone if she hadn’t taken its head off.”

“You beheaded it? A dragon! How?! Gods…” Tyrion was uncharacteristically lost for words.

“It was in the heat of the moment, I don’t know how–” Brienne was cut off.

“Killing a dragon in the heat of the moment! I think that’s the first time anybody’s ever uttered something so absurd! Incredible. Impossible! This is unquestionably the most unbelievable thing I’ve ever heard in my life, and, believe me, I’ve heard a great deal. I’m in awe…” Tyrion tailed off, lost in thought for a moment. “And what about you, brother? Lady Brienne took down a dragon, Podrick saved all of us from certain death, what did you do?”

Jaime was about to give a self-deprecating answer in his trademark sarcastic tone, but Brienne beat him to it.

“Ser Jaime led my army for me when I could not, and he fought for the two of us when I needed a moment to recover. He survived the worst battle the Seven Kingdoms has ever seen without his swordhand, and he looked after me throughout. He was braver than he’ll give himself credit for,” Brienne said to Tyrion, as Jaime felt his heart swell. She had limped back to stand beside him again, and he automatically put his arm around her waist to steady her; the casual touch felt so natural, and Brienne did nothing to brush it off.

“I wasn’t brave, I was lucky,” Jaime said, unwilling to take her praise. “I was so close to giving in when they all dropped.”

“But you didn’t,” said Brienne.

“I didn’t,” he sighed in agreement. “I don’t know about anybody else but I could do with a drink.”

Tyrion laughed. “That’s my brother! Let’s move some place warmer, shall we? The two of you look positively freezing. Coming, Pod?”

“I think I’ll help escort everybody back to their rooms safely first, if that’s okay. There’s a big clean up needed out there,” Pod said, gesturing with his head to the corridor. “But I could do with a drink myself.” Jaime was impressed again. _So thoughtful._ Pod reminded him of his younger, more innocent self, before he was tainted by the white cloak of the Kingsguard; before he turned into the cynical, pessimist he had allowed himself to become.

“That’s very noble of you, Podrick. I would love to help, but I need to escort Lady Brienne to a maester,” he gestured to her wounded ankle.

Pod’s eyes widened at the gruesome sight of her wound, but Brienne spoke first. “You need a maester yourself, ser. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

“It’s nothing,” Jaime assured her, although he had felt a little woozy ever since entering the crypt. “Shall we make a move then? We’ll save some wine for you, Pod, don’t worry,” he joked as he gently pushed Brienne to start moving.

“Thank you, ser. I think Maester Wolkan and Lady Sansa were headed for the Great Hall to assess the scale of what we’ve lost; with any luck, you’ll find them there.”

“Thanks, Pod,” said Brienne. “We’ll see you soon.”

***

Tyrion led the way through the corridor with a torch, and Jaime and Brienne pulled each other along behind him. They walked in silence as they passed by all the corpses of those men who had not been as lucky as they had, and Brienne felt a deep sorrow. At one point, she tripped over the hand of a Bolton man, and would have fallen head first onto the ground were it not for Jaime’s supportive grip on her. She would never give him the satisfaction of saying it aloud, but she enjoyed the protective feeling of his arm around her. In the horror of battle, he had been the one thing keeping her going; she was thankful that he had valued her life enough to fight so valiantly for her. It pained her to think that he still believed himself unworthy of praise, even after he had protected her when she could not protect herself, but she vowed to tell him over and over until he accepted her thanks.

They finally made it into the Great Hall, where a number of surviving men were doing their best to move some of the casualties to one side. It felt somewhat disrespectful to move the dead, but it would do nothing for the survivors’ morale to sit amongst the fallen. It took a moment for her to locate her, but Brienne’s eyes finally landed on Lady Sansa, who appeared totally unharmed. At almost the same moment, Sansa’s eyes found her own.

“Lady Brienne! Oh, I'm so relieved! It must have been so awful. How are you?” Sansa approached her with her arms outstretched, and Brienne reluctantly stepped out of Jaime’s hold on her to return the hug.

“It was worse than anything we could ever have imagined, my lady. Tell me, have you seen your sister? I pray that she survived.” Brienne held her breath in anticipation.

“Arya’s alive; of course she would be. In fact, she’s the reason we’re all still here. She was the one who got to him.”

“The Night King?”

“Yes. I believe that’s why the rest of them dropped so suddenly, by all accounts. My mother and father would be so proud of their little girl, the saviour of Winterfell.” Sansa smiled, proudly.

“She saved us all. Ser Jaime and I were moments away from death when they all fell,” she gestured towards Jaime behind her, and he gave her a small smile.

“Ser Jaime, I’m pleased you made it out alive,” Sansa smiled. “I trust you and Lady Brienne made a great team out there.”

Brienne blushed at Sansa’s words; she had not anticipated a time where the three of them would ever share a conversation when she had admitted her feelings for Jaime to her, and she was worried Sansa might accidentally reveal too much.

“We did,” Jaime replied positively. “I wouldn’t have made it out without Brienne.”

“Well I’m glad you have each other to lean on." She turned to see another group of soldiers make their way in. "Look after each other!” she added, as she made her way over to the wounded men.

“Have you spotted Wolkan yet?” Jaime was beside her again, his voice low and his breath against her ear. She shivered.

“No. How are you feeling? You should sit down if you’re lightheaded,” Brienne turned to him. She was terrified that he had lost too much blood, even though he was doing his best to pretend he was okay. Her only solace was in the fact he had not yet lost consciousness, and seemed to be mostly stable on his feet.

He put his arm around her waist again making her jump, gently nudging her forward. “You’re the one who needs a seat.” He guided her to a bench in the corner of the room, and they sat in silence as they watched as more survivors walked into the hall, all of them a ghastly sight to behold. Jaime had removed his arm from around Brienne as they had lowered themselves onto the bench, but he was sat so close to her that they were connected from their shoulders all the way down to their feet. Brienne cherished the unfamiliar intimacy.

There had been a moment before the dead descended on them between her and Ser Jaime. They had looked into one another’s eyes for reassurance, and, though Brienne tried not to get her hopes up like a silly little girl, she could have sworn she’d seen a tenderness in his eyes that he’d never revealed to her before. In that moment, she almost believed Sansa that he felt something for her. It was too real and too much for Brienne to contemplate, so she’d tried to push it to the back of her mind during the battle, but now she could not think of anything besides. She knew, however, that bravery in battle was a completely different kind to the bravery she’d need to ever address her feelings where he was concerned. For now, she was simply thankful for her life, and the fact that Jaime still breathed beside her.

Within an hour, Maester Wolkan had attended to both of them, having coarsely stitched Jaime’s wound together, and strapped Brienne’s ankle up. He had administered them both just a smidgen of milk of the poppy, enough to numb the pain but too little to knock them out, and had moved onto his next patients. Jaime turned to Brienne when he had walked away from them. “About that drink…”

“I think I could do with one too,” Brienne said, although she was more than ready to sleep for days. It was much harder to walk with her ankle wrapped up so tightly, so she had to lean on Jaime even more for support. “Sorry,” she mumbled, as she gripped his side to steady herself as she limped. Wolkan had needed Jaime to remove his cuirass to properly access his wound, so Jaime was merely wearing his ripped gambeson on top now, and she knew her hand was digging into the place he hurt the most.

If he felt any pain, he didn’t show it to her.

“Don’t worry about it,” he reassured her as they moved, and he pulled her closer to him so that he could take more of her weight. _How can he not see how good he is?_ Brienne thought to herself as he treated her more gently and looked after her more thoroughly than anybody ever had. He led her into the room adjacent to the Great Hall, where they had watched Tyrion head for earlier, and they were not surprised to see him by the hearth, goblet in hand.

“Brother,” Jaime greeted him, as Tyrion stood up.

“All sorted?” Tyrion asked. “Nothing too serious injury-wise?”

“All good. I’ve been stitched up and Brienne’s just got to take it easy for a few weeks. Wolkan says it’ll heal on its own quite nicely in time.”

“Very good.” Tyrion grabbed one chair and placed it by the fire next to his own, before grabbing another one and placing it next to the other one. “Wine?”

“Please,” Brienne responded eagerly.

Jaime laughed at her. “Drink up, my lady. You deserve it!”

Brienne blushed as Tyrion filled up a goblet before passing it to her, taking a sip from it immediately to cover her embarrassment as Tyrion filled another up for Jaime. She took the opportunity to untangle herself from Jaime, and took the seat furthest from Tyrion’s. The heat emanating from the hearth was wonderful, and she closed her eyes for a moment, revelling in appreciation for the warmth. _I never thought I’d feel this warm again_.

The hardest part of the battle had not been the swordplay; Brienne was quite adept at fighting. No, the hardest part had been the relentlessness of it all, never knowing when it would end, never knowing _how_ it would end, and the horrible thought of being _that cold_ for an eternity. With her eyes closed, Brienne could almost imagine herself back home on Tarth, the sun shining down on her as she walked along the coastal path. Jaime’s voice beside her interrupted her thoughts and her eyes opened again.

“How many do you think we lost?”

“It’s not a happy number, that much I can tell you,” Tyrion replied.

“I’m not sure how many of our men survived...” Brienne turned to Jaime. “I should have done more to help; I failed them.”

“You did nothing of the sort.” Brienne was shocked to see a stern look in Jaime’s eyes.

“Correct,” Tyrion butted in. “We can mourn all we’ve lost tomorrow; tonight we must celebrate the victory, and the lives we still have ahead of us.”

“Here, here.”

Brienne turned her head to see Pod enter the room along with two other men. One was the bastard Gendry, and the other, the one who had spoken, Davos Seaworth.

Tyrion raised his goblet to the trio, before rising from his seat. “We promised you we’d save you some, Pod.” He poured some wine into a goblet, handing it to his former squire. “Gentlemen? Can I interest you in some wine? It’s not Dornish, but I’m afraid it’ll have to do.”

“Count me in,” Davos said, whilst Gendry nodded politely at his side. Tyrion poured two more goblets as they pulled their own chairs towards the hearth.

“Excellent,” Tyrion said when they had all taken their seats. “To survival.” He raised his glass, and everybody followed suit.

“I believe I need to congratulate you, my lady,” Davos turned to Brienne, confusing her.

“For what?”

“I heard you took down a dragon all on your own. That’s mighty impressive,” he explained.

“I had to protect my men,” Brienne replied coyly, refusing to take credit for something she had not really thought about. She was embarrassed about it truthfully; it was something else people would have to mock her about. _Big Brienne the dragonslayer_. She'd had no idea what she was going to do before she was already doing it, and, by that point, she’d had to carry on to save her own life. She didn’t deserve praise for it; it had been an act of stupidity. “It was a bit foolish of me to take it on, really. I put both myself and Ser Jaime at unnecessary risk when our men were relying on our survival to give them orders.”

“Foolish, but admirable,” Jaime turned to her with a boyish grin that made him look twenty years younger. “It was the single best thing I’ve ever seen. It’ll take some beating.”

“It might have cost both of us our lives–”

“But it didn’t, Brienne. It saved them. I know you’re not fond of praise, particularly where I’m concerned, but that was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen,” Jaime said in earnest.

“Thank you,” Brienne replied, although she didn’t take it as a compliment.

The door opened again, and this time the Stark girls walked in. “Oh, I hope you don’t mind,” Lady Sansa began, “we wondered if we might join you all in the warmth.”

“Not at all, my lady,” Tyrion rose again at his former wife’s entrance. “Any wine?”

“None for me, my lord,” Sansa replied.

“Nor me,” Arya said. “I’m just here to warm up.”

Tyrion sat back down when the two girls grabbed their own chairs, and the rest of them shuffled theirs to make room for their hosts.

Jaime turned back to Brienne; it was almost as if he could tell she wasn’t pleased with herself. “What a pair we make, eh?” he smiled at her. She looked back at him, confused, though her heart skipped a beat. “A kingslayer and a dragonslayer! The Targaryens must hate us!”

The rest of their companions had begun to chat amongst themselves, so Brienne’s returning smile was for Jaime’s eyes only. “I suppose so.” She raised her goblet to her lips to disguise her oncoming blush, the intensity of his playful gaze getting the better of her.

“What’s this, Brienne? _You_ killed that dragon?” Arya Stark looked at her, awe in her eyes.

“It was nothing, my lady. _You_ saved us all!” Brienne tried to take the attention away from herself.

“But I didn’t kill a dragon singlehandedly! You must promise me to tell me all about it another time when you’re not exhausted,” Arya pleaded, an infectious, excited smile on her face.

Brienne could not help but smile back at her, feeling somewhat more at ease with her earlier actions. “Of course, my lady. As long as you tell me all about your part.”

“Deal,” Arya nodded, and Brienne smiled at her fondly.

She saw something of herself in Arya in the way they were both drawn to the blade; she awed her and envied her in equal parts. Arya was much more confident in her warrior persona at her young age than Brienne had ever been, but Brienne was more emotionally vulnerable, and that had always been her downfall. Stuck in a permanent battle with her femininity, Brienne lacked the bravery to be confident in her own skin, but still she warred with the side of her that wanted to be adored by somebody. She’d spent her whole life at peace with her loneliness, wielding the sword to protect herself both physically and emotionally, proving herself in other ways when men scorned her for her appearance. She got a thrill when she bested somebody in fight, but, deep down, Brienne always knew it was no substitute for the life she could have lived had she been born into different skin. A life knowing love.

She was a foolish maiden at heart, though she did her best to disguise that. It would be just another thing they could use against her. Though she knew she could never be loved, she had longed for it more than anything. Then, when Catelyn Stark had sent her off with Jaime Lannister, she had opened herself up to him, as he had opened up to her, and she found herself irreversibly involved with him; yet another man who had mocked her, but he’d looked at her and seen something within her that nobody else had taken the time to explore.

Sometimes, when Jaime looked at her with that searching gaze, it was as if he were looking at something _more_ than Brienne. Sometimes, he made it dangerously easy for Brienne to convince herself he might feel something for her; she often resented him for that. Jaime Lannister was made for someone much, much more than Brienne, and she only had herself to blame for the intensity of her emotions. She alone had toyed with the idea of the two of them, late at night when she couldn’t sleep; she could not blame him for the things she had imagined him saying to her in her dreams.

For years now she had loved him from a distance, and wistfully dreamt that one day he might love her back. But, now, he was at Winterfell. They had survived the battle against death, and he hadn’t left her side for a second since. The way he had held onto her meant more to Brienne than it did to him, but it was easy to convince herself, just for a second, to indulge herself in the thought that, maybe, impossibly, he might feel something for her. In fact, the way in which he’d acted towards her ever since arriving at Winterfell had her toeing a dangerous line; the more she convinced herself, the worse it would feel when he left her behind again. Try as she might, however, Brienne found herself looking unwillingly towards Jaime as he engaged his brother in conversation, and she accepted the fact that she’d crossed that line long ago. She was in deep.

Jaime turned to her, feeling her gaze on his, and he smiled at her warmly; his green eyes surveyed her own for a moment, before he easily placed his maimed arm on her thigh in what could only be described as reassuring. Reassurance for what, she did not know. Perhaps it was the wine, or perhaps she was experiencing a bout of post-battle insanity, but she could not stop her left hand from reaching for him, and she absentmindedly stroked the stump at the end of his arm with her thumb as she wallowed in the feeling of his scarred skin on her calloused hand. She allowed herself to imagine that the look in his eyes was wonder, admiration; she knew it was something else entirely. But she smiled back at him softly, unable to stop herself, leaving her hand where it rested on his arm as if to prevent him from taking it back.

She broke away from Jaime’s gaze at the same time he turned back to Tyrion, and she found Lady Sansa observing the two of them, and their unusually casual intimacy. Sansa smiled a knowing smile at Brienne, raising her eyebrows and nodding towards where Jaime’s arm still remained on her leg, where Brienne’s hand still gently enveloped it.

_He makes it so easy to believe that Sansa might be right._

Brienne hopelessly wanted to believe that he felt for her, as Lady Sansa had said, and so she allowed herself to foolishly entertain the idea for a second. Perhaps he did love her.

_Madness_ , she thought.

But there was something in the way he’d followed her North, something in the way he’d fought for her, something in the way he’d _smiled_ at her that terrified her to her very core, because maybe she hadn’t been imagining things at all.

_Maybe…_


	11. Things I Do For Love

He had no idea how long they had sat there in front of the fire, in the same way that he’d had no idea how long they had fought for. Jaime Lannister’s perception of time had disappeared ever since that fateful day at the dragonpit. Afterwards, he’d known no time, only riding, and thinking, and eating, and thinking, and fighting, and thinking. Now, sitting around the fire with Brienne of Tarth safely by his side, Jaime felt he could relax for, perhaps, the first time in his entire life. Death had come for them, but they had prevailed. He had feared for her life more than he had feared for his own, but he needn’t have worried about her; she could look after herself.

Despite that, Jaime desperately _wanted_ to look after her. He was almost embarrassed by the way he’d clung to her ever since the battle had so suddenly ceased, but he enjoyed the carefree touches too much to care. She hadn’t denied him those touches, and for that he was thankful; she could so easily have brushed him off, but she had entertained him so far.

He loved her.

It had taken him oh so long to admit it to himself, but, now that he had, he wanted her to know. He was not sure how he would tell her, or if he even _could_ tell her; he’d never been the best with words. _I’ll show her somehow_ , he vowed to himself. He’d always been more at ease expressing his love via gestures as opposed to speech; Cersei had always done the talking for both of them, putting words into his mouth as they had grown up. Instead, Jaime had _done_ things for love. Those he performed for Cersei were morally questionable, but, at the heart of it, Jaime was driven by the very thing he felt he did not deserve. Perhaps that was why he knew he would never be worthy of a love as pure as Brienne’s.

He chanced a look at her out of the corner of his eye; she had turned to Podrick Payne who sat on the other side of her, and the two were chatting animatedly. She looked radiant. Her face was filthy, bloody, bruised and tired. Still in her armour - that magnificent blue armour he’d had made especially for her all those years ago - she looked every bit a knight. More of a knight than Jaime ever was. The armour itself had been an act of love, he had come to admit to himself. Oathkeeper was barely concealed, not at all subtle; he had more or less spilled his heart to her then, in Riverrun, when he’d told her it would always be hers. That _he_ would always be hers was clear to him now, but he’d been blind at the time; unwilling to be introspective. He had a lot of time to make up for that.

Tyrion was nodding off in his seat beside Jaime, his head lolling forward as he snored slightly. Jaime smiled fondly at the familiar sight of his little brother; he was only ever quiet when he was asleep. Jaime half-stood to reposition his chair so that he could involve himself in Brienne and Pod’s conversation, and he faltered slightly when he saw the look Brienne gave him. She quickly recovered from it, but Jaime knew she had thought that he was about to retire for the night, and he could read in her sapphire eyes that she did not want him to do so. _Perhaps neither of us are ready to be alone just yet_. Jaime dreaded the party dissolving; he feared what horrors awaited him in sleep. He feared being apart from Brienne.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Jaime smiled sheepishly. “My brother’s not proving to be the best company right now.”

“Not at all,” Pod replied, a small laugh escaping his lips at the sight of Tyrion, who was still clutching onto a half-full goblet of wine in his slumber.

Brienne looked first at Pod and then turned to Jaime, her eyes suddenly glossed over with the beginning of tears. She held them back. “We did it. The three of us... We survived,” she murmured, as if it was only just dawning on her.

“All thanks to you,” Pod beamed at his liege.

“No…” she tried to deny it. Something in the way Jaime shot her a meaningful look seemed to shut her up. She smiled slightly instead.

“Please, just accept the praise for once in your life,” Jaime grinned at her. “You’re always so stubborn!”

“You’re one to talk,” she retorted, smirking at him. He loved the way her eyes sparkled as she did so; he didn’t see this side of her often. “How about we call it a draw? We both saved each other, right? Isn’t that enough?”

“More than enough,” he replied in earnest. His eyes were drawn to the window on the other side of the room when he saw dust motes dancing in the air before him. They sparkled in the light, and that meant only one thing. _Sunrise_. “Looks like we made it, my lady.”

“Hm?” Brienne turned to face the window herself, and the rising sun illuminated the soft skin on her neck. _I never thought I’d live to see the sun again._ Jaime could do naught but stare at Brienne bathed in the sunlight, though he tried to tear his eyes away from her. Her white-blonde hair was tainted by blood and filth; it reminded him of the moon itself, shaded in those craters that the sunlight could not quite reach. He fought the urge to push a loose strand out of her face. Her armour, filthy as it was, still shone in the sun.

“Stunning,” she uttered as she turned back to him.

“Truly,” he responded, but he was not referring to the sun. The look she gave him was questioning, and he realised he’d been staring past the point of politeness. _Now’s as good a time as any to be honest¸_ he thought.

“You know, Brienne, you probably won’t thank me for saying this, but in this light, you look more a knight than any man I have ever seen. And I don’t mean that as a gibe.”

“Jaime,” she started to admonish him a wary look in her eyes. His heart leapt at the familiar way she used his name; he felt closer to her somehow. He cut her off before she could continue.

“No, Brienne, let me finish. You slaughtered a dragon out there tonight, and you hardly broke a sweat doing so. You’re braver than anyone I’ve ever known, and you deserve to be told that over and over again until you believe it of yourself. You defended Winterfell tonight; most of us are far from innocent, but you protected us nevertheless. And you’re _just_ ; more so than anyone has any right to be. You’re a true knight, Brienne. You deserve the White Book more than I do.”

“Ser, I fear you’ve had too much to drink,” Brienne replied modestly, abashed.

“No, I agree with him, Lady Brienne.” Jaime had no idea that Sansa Stark had been listening in. She turned to him. “If you think she’s so worthy of a knighthood, why don’t you just give it to her?”

“Give her– _knight_ her?” Jaime tested the words on his tongue. Of course. He had the power to knight whomsoever he thought worthy, and she had long since passed that test. Perhaps this would be his greatest act of love yet, the one he knew he would not live to regret. He turned to Brienne, whose cheeks were unmistakably turning an appealing shade of pink. She could barely meet his eyes.

“Would you…” He tried to search her face for a sign that she might want this, but she hid her expression well. “Is that something you’d like, Brienne?” he murmured.

“I’d thank you not to toy with me,” she replied gingerly.

“I’m not toying with you.” Of course he wasn’t.

“Brienne, I could make a knight of you this very moment, all you have to do is say the word.”

She didn’t respond. She could still barely look at him. The room was silent again, and all eyes were on Brienne, whose gaze was fixated on her now trembling hands.

Jaime decided to take matters into his own hand.

“Kneel.”

He had risen from his seat now, and he was walking towards where he’d cast Widow’s Wail aside earlier. He picked it up and tested its familiar weight in his left hand while he waited for her to respond. “I won’t ask you again, Lady Brienne. Please. Kneel.” He fiddled with the hilt of his sword as he watched her stand nervously, turn to face him and take a few wobbly, limping steps towards him.

“Do you really mean it?” She looked at him with frightened, guarded eyes. She thought he would mock her, but he meant only to celebrate her. He looked back at her with a ferocity and raised one eyebrow. _Does she think so little of me?_

“Kneel,” he pressed.

She knelt.

Slowly, she lifted her head to look into his eyes; on the ground before him, she was open, vulnerable, submissive. He felt so fervently for her in this moment that he had to tear himself away from her gaze, overcome by the intensity of his own emotions. She trusted him more than he thought possible, that much was apparent. He looked beyond Brienne, to the rest of their company, whose eyes were all glued to the scene unfolding before them. Tyrion was awake now, and nodded at Jaime in encouragement. _This is it._

He looked back down at Brienne, and he felt a sham in comparison. He wasn’t even in full armour, for gods’ sake, and he hated that he had to knight her with his left hand. _This isn’t about me_ , he told himself, but he couldn’t deny the fact he felt unworthy to be the one bestowing this honour upon her. Nevertheless, he adjusted his grip on Widow’s Wail, before carefully extending it to Brienne’s right shoulder.

“In the name of the Warrior,” his voice was lower than he’d expected, “I charge you to be brave.”

He guided Widow’s Wail over her head, letting it rest on her left shoulder.

“In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just.”

He heard her exhale shakily as he passed Widow’s Wail back onto her right shoulder.

“In the name of the Mother,” his own voice was shaky now, “I charge you to defend the innocent.”

He paused, waiting for her eyes to cautiously meet his own, before continuing.

“Arise, Brienne of Tarth, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms,” he declared, the ardent pride in his deep voice reverberating throughout the room as he watched her stand, tall and confident. He could see how deeply this affected her. She had needed this, though she never would have admitted it.

She nodded her head at him, barely able to contain the radiant smile on her face, before turning to Pod who rose from his seat, applauding ecstatically. The rest of the room clapped along, including Jaime, and she turned back to him. “Thank you, ser,” she said to him.

“You’re welcome,” he smiled, “Ser Brienne”.

Her smile widened upon hearing the honorific spoken aloud for the first time; it was possibly the first time she had ever smiled at him _properly_. A true, unrestrained, joyous grin, just for Jaime. His heart was ablaze with emotion. He grinned back at her, as if this was normal, as if this was something he’d have done for anyone. As if his heart were not about to beat its way right out of his chest to get to her. Perhaps this was enough. He needn’t spoil their companionship with his selfish feelings.

“I’m sorry for doubting your intentions,” she said to him in earnest.

“Not at all. It’s my fault for giving you reason to think I might jest with you,” he replied. He could never take back the things he had said to her when they had first met.

He helped her back to her seat, while the rest of the group congratulated her, and toasted to her achievements. “Well you’ve had quite a night, Brienne of Tarth.” Tyrion smirked. “Dragonslayer and now a Knight of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Yes. Quite a night,” Brienne replied, her voice tinged with disbelief.

“Nobody deserves it more,” Jaime piped up. She was about to retort, but Arya chimed in first.

“You're incredible, Ser Brienne. The first lady knight the Seven Kingdoms has seen! Do you know how impressive that is?” Arya’s amazement was written on her face.

“It’s quite something, I must admit,” Brienne said as a blush tainted her cheeks once again. “I never thought…”

“Well it’s a good thing my brother did,” Tyrion smirked at her.

“Actually, I suggested it,” Sansa chirped up.

“Ah, I see,” Tyrion replied. He looked to Jaime. “It’s a good thing Lady Sansa was here to recognise Brienne’s talents.”

“I would have done it anyway,” Jaime said, although, truthfully, he hadn’t even considered the possibility that he could knight a woman until Sansa suggested it, no matter how much she deserved it.

“I’m sure,” Tyrion smiled.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I’m exhausted,” Arya Stark said, rising from her seat. “Taking out the Night King was tiring work,” she joked. “Congratulations again, Ser Brienne. I’ll see you all on the morrow.”

“I’ll walk you out, my lady,” Gendry spoke in Arya’s direction.

“I’m _not_ a lady, Gendry,” Arya replied, but she made no quarrel with him escorting her out. They had not long since left the room when Davos stood up to leave too.

“I might not have played quite as important a role as some of you, but I’m in dire need of sleep. I’m afraid I might drop off on the walk back to my room at this rate. I bid you all a goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Ser Davos,” Sansa replied. The rest of them murmured their goodnights, their own exhaustion settling in now. Pod’s eyelids were heavy, and his head was slumped in his hand as if waiting for sleep to take him.

Jaime turned to Brienne, “I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I’ll ever sleep again.”

“Nor me.”

“How long do you think it’ll be before we forget this night?”

“I don’t think we ever will. Fighting death is naught like anything I’ve experienced before. I won’t ever forget the cold,” Brienne said, shivering despite the warmth of the fire.

Across from them, Sansa and Tyrion were getting on amicably, laughing politely at each other’s jokes. Jaime was surprised to see their easy conversation; perhaps Sansa didn’t hate the Lannisters after all, just the Lannister twins.

“I’m sorry to bring it up, my lady, you’ve probably pushed it to the very periphery of your mind, but I do apologise for our marriage. My sweet sister had made your life misery enough on its own, and then you had to wed a dwarf!”

“A witty dwarf,” Sansa smiled at him. “I had a horrid time in King’s Landing, but my marriage to you was probably the best of it. You definitely top my list of husbands." They both laughed. “Thank you for respecting me.”

“It was the least I could do. I resent Cersei as much as you do. Perhaps more,” Tyrion replied. Jaime’s skin crawled at the mention of her name. Now he was away from her, he realised the extent to which he had willingly ignored her cruelties just to stay by her side. He was glad he’d got away, glad to have the clarity to see her for the monster she was. There was nothing, _nothing_ , that would make him return to her. Besides, he had a reason to stay in the North now, for the time being at least. He could not comprehend the stark contrast between the two women he had loved in his life; perhaps Cersei had been something else entirely. _Love_ seemed much too kind. Obsession maybe, blind faith. She was a hateful woman, and Jaime wanted nothing more to do with her.

Sansa yawned across from him and Tyrion smirked at her. “I’ll escort you to your chambers, my lady. Perhaps we can reminisce our romantic evenings.” Tyrion joked.

“We wouldn’t have much to discuss, then,” Sansa laughed. “I hope you don’t mind, Lady– sorry, _Ser_ Brienne. I’m awfully tired. Please come find me tomorrow, I’ll be here if you need to talk to somebody about the battle. Goodnight, Ser Jaime.”

Brienne replied, “yes, my lady”, at the same time that Jaime raised his hand in silent farewell.

“I bid you both a goodnight, sers,” Tyrion smiled mischievously, before allowing Sansa to link her arm through his own and leading her away. “You know, _our_ marriage was a dud. We never had a thing in common. Perhaps marriage is better suited to people who have a complex past, or share the same interests.” He shot a devilish look back at Jaime as he strolled, who only glared in return. “I think many a pair are more compatible than the two of us.”

Sansa replied, trying to conceal her laugh as she interpreted Tyrion’s motive. “Yes, I think perhaps you’re right. Well, you never know, maybe in the aftermath of this fight, we’ll see people brought together.”

Tyrion sniggered at her as they disappeared through the door. Jaime was mortified at their suggestions. He prayed that Brienne had not overheard their conversation; it was hardly subtle. The worst part was that Tyrion had not had to try to egg Sansa on, she’d understood straight away and proceeded to continue the teasing.

_Are my feelings so apparent that even the Stark girl can read me?_

He turned to see whether Brienne had been listening in on their conversation too, but he could not read her face. She was focusing very intently on her empty goblet.

“Can I get you some more wine?” Jaime asked attentively.

“No, thanks.”

“You look troubled. Would sharing your thoughts help at all? I’m a good listener,” Jaime suggested.

“I wouldn’t know, it tends to be that I listen to you witter on more often than not,” she japed, chancing a smile at him.

He smiled and looked back at her fondly, expectantly.

“I was just thinking about… You know, everything we…” She paused to collect her thoughts. “I guess what I’m trying to say is _thank you_. For everything. For looking after me way back when, for Oathkeeper, for trusting me, for treating me like a _human_ and not some freak. You’ve been awfully kind to me, ser.”

“It’s nothing, Brienne. Nothing that you don’t deserve,” he murmured, his voice low. _Anything you want, name it and it’s yours_ , he wanted to say.

“Thank you for coming North, for fighting beside me… for _knighting_ me.”

“Brienne,” he started softly. Her sapphire eyes were mesmerising, captivating, staring into his own and holding his gaze hostage. He swiftly forgot what he was about to say. They stared at each other for a moment, before he managed to drag his gaze away, clearing his throat to fill the silence.

He turned back to her. “I’d follow those eyes anywhere,” he uttered, the wine getting the better of him. Her mouth opened slightly in shock, but she did not reply, turning her head away from him. She gazed into the flames, refusing to look at him. He wasn’t sure how he’d expected her to react, but he cursed himself and the wine for thinking it was the right time. _She isn’t ready._ But he had been so sure that the look they shared before the battle had meant as much to her as it had to him. _Maybe I’m a bigger fool than I thought_.

Still staring into the hearth, Brienne finally spoke again. “I think perhaps it would be best if I were to head to my chamber now.”

Jaime regretted having opened his mouth. “Allow me to escort you,” he said. Brienne looked as if she were about to object when Jaime continued. “Please.”

“Very well.” She still hadn’t looked at Jaime since he had commented on her eyes. He knew she had only agreed because of her limp. “Pod. Podrick,” she said as she gently nudged the shoulder of the sleeping squire. “Pod, we’re going to get some rest. Don’t you think you’d be more comfortable sleeping in your bed?” she asked as he looked at her groggily, barely awake.

“Most likely,” he agreed, wearily pushing himself out of his seat and stretching. “I’ll help clear this lot up first.”

“No, go and rest. You've done enough. Ser Jaime and I can sort this out,” Brienne stated.

Podrick nodded. “I shall see you tomorrow, milady, erm, _ser,_ ” he struggled with Brienne’s new title. “ _Sers_ , I should say,” he corrected himself, nodding in Jaime’s direction.

“Sleep well, Pod,” Jaime said, before turning to stack the chairs up. Brienne collected the empty goblets and placed them on the ledge to one side. The kitchen staff could see to them in the morn. In fact, the light of day was well and truly shining through the windows now; a new day was just beginning and neither Brienne nor Jaime were ready to face it.

Brienne went to grab some more wood for the fire to keep it burning, but Jaime pulled her back by the arm. “Come,” he said. “Someone else can keep the fire going later. You need to get some rest.”

She finally looked him in the eyes again, but hers were guarded. She nodded in agreement. “Very well.”

He placed his arm around her once again so that she could lean into him as she walked, but her grip on him was weaker than it had been before, and she tried to carry more of her own weight. _Did my comment offend her?_ Jaime wanted to bring up that which he had thought to be a compliment, but he daren’t. He daren’t say anything, in fact, and so they walked in complete silence all the way to Brienne’s chamber. Jaime guessed hers would be a lot more welcoming than his own.

When they got to the door, Brienne removed herself from Jaime’s hold and turned to face him. “Thank you, ser.”

“Thank _you_ , Brienne.” They looked at each other for a moment, before her hand twisted on the doorknob behind her. “Good night.”

Then, before he missed his chance, before he could talk himself out of it, he leaned forwards, standing on his tiptoes, to plant a soft, lingering kiss on her forehead.

_If she doesn’t understand now, she never will.  
_


	12. Confessions of a Kingslayer

Jaime Lannister lay rigid in his bed as he battled against his own mind. When he’d closed his eyes to sleep, all he could see was death. Death and Cersei. And, so, he was staring at the ceiling instead, eyes wide open, trying to think of happy thoughts, but none came to him. Though he’d tried to clear his mind, he could not help but think about where he would go next, what lay ahead for him beyond Winterfell. He could no longer return to King’s Landing, not that he wanted to, but he was now no longer comfortable at Winterfell either. He would have to forge a new path for himself. He would go somewhere new and embrace an entirely different life. It was unfair on the maid of Tarth to stick around at Winterfell any longer.

He had made his feelings quite clear to Brienne, and it was quite clear to Jaime that she simply did not return them. Now, he couldn’t help but feel that their friendship would be awkward, forced, and so the best thing to do would be to leave her behind. Permanently this time. All this time, Jaime had thought himself unworthy of Brienne’s love, but, in the aftermath of the battle, he had managed to foolishly convince himself that she might reciprocate his feelings, unworthy or not. He had vowed not to tell her until she was ready, but, selfishly, he had kissed her because he couldn’t wait any longer. Now, it was evident that it wasn’t that Brienne was unready, it was that she was uninterested.

It hurt Jaime more than he ever could have imagined.

He had walked away from her slowly, giving her ample time to respond, to call after him, to give him something in return, _anything_ , but to no avail. What hurt the most was not the fact that Brienne did not return his feelings, but more so that she did not care enough for him to even politely decline him. He desperately wanted her to argue with him, to berate him for stepping over the line, to push him away. Instead, she stood as still as a corpse, as if he hadn’t just done the bravest thing he’d ever done. That she did not love him he could accept, but he’d thought she’d value their friendship enough to at least have the decency to let him down gently. But she’d ignored it. Completely. She’d watched him walk away from her in silence, standing at her door until he’d made it three quarters of the way down the corridor before he’d heard her entering her chamber. It stung. Alas, there was nothing he could do now, except to leave her to her own life and to get on miserably with his own.

His thoughts were rudely interrupted by a commotion in the corridor outside his room. Of course, it was morning; people would be rising for a new day soon. Jaime still had not slept, nor did he think he could. He heard a woman’s voice greet somebody, a man whose voice was so deep it seemed to make the floor vibrate.

 _Tormund_ , Jaime thought, as he remembered the big, ginger wildling. He heard his laugh echo down the corridor and then the woman’s voice followed again. But it was not just any woman’s voice.

It was _hers_.

 _So that’s how it is._ Brienne did want Tormund after all _._ Jaime was offended that she hadn’t trusted him enough to just admit it to him when he’d questioned her about it the other day. It didn’t make it hurt any less that she didn’t return Jaime’s feelings, but at least he knew she’d have someone to look out for her when he eventually left.

“No, Tormund. People are sleeping,” Jaime heard her say in a hushed voice. Just hearing her voice crushed him all over again.

“Come on, Brienne. There’s obviously a reason you came,” Tormund said, caring not that he’d probably woken the entire corridor up.

“There is a reason I came here, but it’s not that. And I’d thank you to let me go,” Brienne said, her voice getting louder despite her efforts to keep it low.

Jaime was standing now, heading for the door. He didn’t like the tone of Brienne’s voice. He opened the door to his chamber and looked to where they were standing. Tormund was holding Brienne’s arm, though she looked somewhat uncomfortable. She was wearing a black nightgown, and she looked significantly more fragile out of her armour. _Get your unusually large hands off her_ , Jaime thought angrily, although he knew it was not his place to say.

“Tormund,” Brienne started, but she followed Tormund’s gaze to where Jaime stood morosely in the doorway.

“Ah. Lannister. Brienne and I were just–”

“We were just about to finish up this conversation,” Brienne said in Jaime’s direction, though she did not meet his eyes.

“Don’t stop on my behalf,” Jaime replied, bitterly. “It wouldn’t hurt to find someplace else, though. Some of us are trying to sleep.”

“Sorry about the noise, we’ll keep it down,” Tormund said, although he made no effort to quieten his booming voice. Jaime eyed him warily. He did not like the way he held onto Brienne’s arm; it was possessive, domineering.

“You should go, Tormund,” Brienne looked back to him.

Tormund looked to Jaime, then back at Brienne. “Your business is with him,” he said; a statement, not a question.

Jaime continued to glare at Tormund as he leant back on his doorframe. Tormund’s grip on Brienne loosened somewhat, but his hand remained where it was.

“Whatever my business is, it’s none of your concern. I’m glad you survived, Tormund, truly I am… but I’m just. Not. Interested.” Brienne told him, politely but firmly.

 _Funny how she can let him down gently but barely even look at me,_ Jaime thought. He knew he was acting a petulant child, but it was extremely insulting. Surely he meant more to her than Tormund Giantsbane.

“I see,” Tormund said, releasing her arm. “You’re a lucky man, kingstabber.”

“I assure you I’m not,” Jaime replied, doing nothing to mask the hostility in his voice.

“Goodnight, Brienne,” the wildling turned from her.

“Night,” Brienne murmured as she watched him walk away.

Jaime stood in the doorway, unable to move. He watched Brienne watch Tormund, unwilling to take his eyes off her. In her nightgown, Brienne looked the most womanly she ever had; Jaime wanted her badly, but he knew now with a certainty that she would never want him like that. The doorframe creaked as he shifted his weight off it, and Brienne turned at the noise. She looked at him then, her sapphire eyes more glorious than ever, and he knew he needed to get back inside his room before he said something he knew he’d regret.

He made to turn around, but her voice made him come to a halt.

“Wait.”

He stood still, knowing not what to do. He did not want her to see how much her rejection had broken him.

“Jaime,” she nearly whispered. She had moved closer to him, but he still kept his back to her. His door was ajar and he could easily slip in and shut her out. It would be easy enough, surely, to convince himself she had never existed. He could close the door on her now, and never speak to her again. He could move on with his life, as if they had never met. He could let her live her life in peace, as if he had never put her in this cursed position to begin with.

But he knew he could not do that. He turned back to her; she was standing much closer than he had anticipated. Their faces were mere inches apart. His breath caught at the back of his throat as he looked into her eyes sadly, knowing they would never sparkle for him again.

“Lady Brienne,” he nodded politely, distantly.

“Why did you do that?”

“He was making far too much noise, and–”

“Not that,” she snapped, sounding annoyed. “Tormund found me in the corridor and I couldn’t get away from him.”

“What then?” Jaime muttered, wanting the conversation to end. He didn’t want to dwell on the thought of her and Tormund.

“You know what,” Brienne urged.

“If I did, I would already have answered,” Jaime retorted sharply.

Brienne rolled her eyes in response, waiting for him to give her the answer she was searching for. He watched as a thoughtful expression appeared on her face, as though formulating her next words very carefully. She looked as though she were about to start a few times, but she stopped herself before any words came out.

He was running short on patience; being in her company was beginning to feel like rubbing salt in his wounds. He was about to bid her goodnight and close the door in her face when she blurted it out.

“Why, ser? Why did you knight me? Why compliment me so?” She paused, before continuing much quieter.

“Why did you _kiss_ me?” She could not meet his eyes.

 _Don’t make me spell it out for you, wench_ , he thought almost angrily. _Haven’t you made me suffer enough_? But, instead of giving her the sarcastic response she had expected, he pushed himself through the door and into his room, turning to her. “I think you’d better come in.”

He moved aside to let her enter, closing the door behind her. The room was silent except for the flames crackling by the far wall. He lumbered past her clumsily, dropping himself into a seated position at the foot of his bed, as far to one side as he could. He looked to Brienne who stood stiff, still by the doorway. She held herself awkwardly, her arms wrapped around herself as if she were protecting herself against something. She did not look at him. Jaime stood, reaching behind him for the furs from his bed. He gathered them and held them out to her.

“Here.”

She looked to him, his arm outstretched as he offered the furs to her. She looked back confused.

“You look like you could use them more than me,” he continued. She looked at him for a moment before shivering involuntarily. She nodded and walked towards him to retrieve them. She wrapped them around her and held them close.

“You can sit, you know. I don’t bite,” he told her softly.

She lowered herself warily onto his bed, keeping as much distance as possible between them. Jaime sighed. Both of them were facing the window on the opposite wall, too afraid to initiate what they both knew was bound to be a difficult conversation. The silence hung heavy in the room for an age; the uncomfortable tension rose with every minute that passed quietly.

“I tried to sleep but I couldn’t,” Brienne eventually said, her eyes still fixated on the wall furthest from them.

“Nor I.”

“We survived,” she continued in amazement.

“We did.” Jaime was not sure what more there was to say on the matter.

They sat in silence for a little while longer.

“Why, Jaime?” Brienne repeated her earlier question. Jaime felt the bed move beneath him, and he knew she had finally turned to look at him. He knew exactly what she was referring to this time, but he needed time to formulate an appropriate response.

“Why what?”

“You kissed me. Why?” Jaime finally turned to meet Brienne’s gaze; he was shocked to see the fear on her face. She looked more scared now than when she had been face to face with a dragon. _Am I really so frightening?_

Despite the fear written all over her face, Brienne continued shakily, her voice trembling. “You’ve acted odd since you turned up. It’s confusing… Off-putting.”

“Off-putting?” Jaime repeated, offended. “Charming.”

“I didn’t mean– I just–” Brienne stumbled over her words. “I don’t understand you.”

“I don’t understand myself,” Jaime replied. He had crawled back into his defensive emotional shell, unwilling to open up to her. She looked at him patiently for a moment.

“Jaime.”

“Brienne.”

“Why?”

Jaime felt the anger boil within him. He was done with her toying. _Must I really say it aloud?_ “Is it not obvious?”

“Would I be here if it were?” Brienne’s own voice was tainted with annoyance now. Nearly every meaningful conversation they’d had had resulted in some form of argument; neither of them knew how to discuss their feelings without putting some kind of barrier up. Arguing had always come more naturally to them than opening up to one another.

Jaime sighed, running his left hand through his too-long, unkempt hair. He dropped his hand with more force than necessary onto his knee and turned to her. Brienne was caught off-guard by the caustic ferocity in his green eyes.

“Have you ever considered the possibility that I might be in love with you?” he all but growled at her. Brienne’s eyes widened, but no words came to her. “Because I hadn’t. Until the dragonpit.”

He looked at her, waiting for some kind of response before continuing, filling the silence angrily. “I thought about it the whole way here, when you were vouching for my honesty, when we sparred, when we ate together… It’s all I’ve thought about since. I didn’t expect you to respond in kind; I still don’t expect you to say anything. I simply thought that, after all we’ve been through together, you might have had the decency to let me down gently. I _certainly_ didn’t think you’d come here to make me spell it out to you despite your rejection. How else do you explain a _kiss_ , for gods’ sake?”

Brienne watched him warily, as if debating whether she could flee.

“It was selfish of me,” Jaime spoke more softly now, more quietly. “Selfish of me to follow you here, selfish of me to force my company on you, selfish of me to think you might feel something in return. I shouldn’t have told you any of that. I shouldn’t have kissed you. You’re better off without me.”

“No,” Brienne said, barely audible. Jaime looked at her in surprise; he had not expected her to respond.

“You won’t have to worry about things going forward. I’ll depart as soon as I’ve rested. I’m not sure where I’m going, but I’ll be out of your hair.”

“What?” Brienne asked, startled. “No! You can’t leave.”

“Why not? The battle’s won. We both know I’m not welcome here.”

“So you’re just going to go back to her then?” Brienne’s voice was harsh. They both knew she was referring to Cersei.

Anger blazed in Jaime’s eyes again. “You think that little of me?! I told you, I’m done with Cersei!”

“Then stay! You said yourself you don’t have anywhere to go,” Brienne’s voice sounded almost like she was pleading with him.

“Why does it matter to you what I do?” Jaime refused to meet her eyes, still deeply hurt by the whole situation. He wanted her to leave him in peace; he lacked the energy to put up an argument.

“You know why,” Brienne said.

“I’m not a good man, Brienne. I can look after myself; you needn’t worry about having to stick up for me anymore.”

“That’s not it.” She shook her head.

Jaime felt the bed beneath him move again, and he watched, bewildered, as Brienne shuffled across the bed, edging closer to him.

Taking them both by surprise, she placed her hand over his own. Jaime looked at her, wordless. He could feel her hand trembling on top of his own as she deliberated over her next words. Jaime felt his hopes rising. _Don’t_ , he told himself. _She’s not interested_.

“I– I’m–” she started nervously. “I’m not sure I believe you, but I desperately want to.”

Jaime’s heart skipped a beat.

“I’ve thought about it too, you know. _Us_.” She paused for a moment, enjoying the feel of that word on her tongue. Jaime turned his hand beneath hers so they were palm to palm; he nervously entwined his fingers with hers, squeezing gently to encourage her to continue. “I just don’t know– I don’t know how to– I never expected that I’d ever have to address it.”

Jaime marvelled at her in disbelief.

“I’ve never– It’s too much,” she said.

“Too much?”

“I don’t know _how_ –”

“Then don’t. If you’re not sure, don’t go any further. I’d rather you not say anything you might regret in a few hours’ time.”

“I– I won’t regret it,” she whispered, looking down. It took everything within her to muster up the courage to look him directly in the eyes again. “Harrenhal.”

“Harrenhal?” Jaime looked at her confused. “What’s Harrenhal got to do with this?” 

“That’s when I knew. Maybe before, but definitely ever after.”

Jaime nearly gasped in disbelief. “I won’t believe you unless you say it, Brienne. Put an old man out of his misery, please,” he more or less begged her. _If she doesn’t admit to it now, she never will_. It was too late for Jaime to protect himself; he’d already got his hopes all the way up. _Say it._

“That’s when I knew that… that… that I love you. I know a woman like me could never–”

He separated his hand from hers and the look on her face at the loss of contact nearly broke his heart; he had never seen such a wounded expression in anyone’s eyes before. She tried to turn her face away from his, but he placed his hand under her chin and turned it back towards him.

“Please don’t shy away from me,” he commanded, his voice low. “A _woman like you_ is far too good for me, but I’m a selfish man and I’ve waited long enough,” he murmured; he was close enough now that she could feel his warm breath against her face.

She trembled.

“Would you mind?” He whispered.

“Mind what?”

“If I were to kiss you…” Jaime waited. Brienne’s breath hitched in her throat. She looked at him, questioning, as if doubting his intentions. Finally, she shook her head almost imperceptibly. _No._

Jaime pulled his head away from her. His heart was nearly pounding through his chest. He was so convinced she had wanted him to kiss her. _Stupid fool._ But, then, Brienne’s hand was at the back of his neck, pulling his head back to where it was before, her fingers delicately stroking his too-long hair.

“I meant that I wouldn’t mind… I want it,” she said, more brazen than she’d ever been. Her confidence shocked Jaime to the core, and he was momentarily dumbfounded. When she pulled his head closer to hers, he was absolutely gobsmacked. Their lips met. _Finally_.

The tender, careful way in which she pressed her lips to his took him by surprise, but he quickly recovered. Leaning into her more, Jaime moved his own hand to the nape of Brienne’s neck, holding her head in place, terrified that she might regret it and pull away from him much sooner than he was ready for her to do so. Her hair was matted, still covered in blood and debris from the battle, but Jaime didn’t mind. It was as though he had waited his whole life for this moment.

Her kiss was unexpectedly sweet; it was delicate, nothing like Cersei’s demanding, possessive kisses. Brienne was gentle, obviously nervous, but, to Jaime’s astonishment, unexpectedly confident. He was almost certain she’d never kissed another soul, but her kiss betrayed none of that inexperience. Jaime’s head was swimming, his heart pounding; he had never been so happy in his gods-forsaken life.

Brienne pulled away much too soon for Jaime’s liking, but he took the opportunity to catch his breath. He anxiously searched her face for any sign of regret, but his worries were eased when she smiled at him shyly. Jaime could not stop himself from leaning in once more to kiss her briefly; short and sweet, but just as elating. He smiled back at her, reaching for her hand.

“Do you believe me yet?”

“I’m getting there,” Brienne made a sound that could only be described as a giggle, surprising Jaime. He’d never seen her look so carefree. With her cheeks flushed from the kiss, she looked more youthful than ever; in her nightgown, more womanly than ever.

“I like you in this,” Jaime said, pinching some of the black material on her thigh and letting it fall softly back onto her skin. “It becomes you.”

Brienne looked at Jaime warily. He could tell she was still not fully comfortable. “I love you in my armour, but I love you out of it too. You look… softer like this, somehow.” Jaime couldn’t help but liken her armour to her emotional barriers; her physical and mental protection gone, she was completely open to him. Jaime wanted to reassure her that he would not take advantage of this vulnerability; he treasured the trust she had in him.

Brienne wrapped the furs around her shoulders a little tighter self-consciously. “I should have changed before I came to find you, but I was scared I might only conjure up the courage to face you once and I didn’t want to talk myself out of it.”

“Look at me, I’m hardly dressed for the occasion either,” Jaime joked, gesturing to his tunic and breeches. “I really thought you’d come to find Tormund.”

“No! I told you I wasn’t interested in him,” Brienne seemed repulsed by the idea.

“You told me you weren’t interested in me once. Things can change,” Jaime laughed.

“Have your plans _changed_?” Brienne asked, nervously.

“My plans?”

“To leave. Will I ever see you again?” The look on Brienne’s face nearly broke him. _She really does love me_.

“I’m yours, Brienne. You couldn’t get rid of me now if you tried,” he said, wrapping his left arm around her waist and pulling her into his side. Jaime held her close for a moment, before kissing her cheek. Brienne closed her eyes at the contact and relaxed into his side momentarily, before opening her eyes and turning to face him again. He identified a longing in her eyes that spoke everything she could not say aloud. How they’d hidden their feelings from one another for so long Jaime had no idea; he was sure that his love for her was etched plainly on his face for all to see, just as hers was for him.

He brushed his lips lightly against hers, resting his forehead on her own. “I love you,” he whispered. Brienne didn’t respond verbally, but she wrapped both of her arms around him, one resting on the back of his head, one on his lower back, and she brought their lips together again. This time their kiss was deeper than before, less restrained. Jaime tentatively licked her bottom lip, unsure how she’d react, but she opened her mouth willingly, allowing their tongues to meet. Slow and sensual. Jaime could not stop himself from groaning.

The sound of it must have frightened Brienne, because she swiftly pulled her head away, leaving Jaime breathless and wanting, desperate for more.

“I should probably go,” Brienne said.

She might as well have pushed Oathkeeper through his heart.

 _Of course it’s like that_. “I should have known,” Jaime responded, still trying to steady his breathing. _I knew it was too good to be true. A moment of madness, but now she’s seen me for what I am._ His heart throbbed, stinging.

Brienne’s hands were suddenly on either side of his face, cupping his jawline and gently stroking where his beard lined his cheekbones. She carefully lifted his head up, forcing his eyes to meet her own. “I only mean… I don’t regret this, Jaime. I don’t. I don’t. I just– I just feel… a little out of my depth.” She looked away, embarrassed.

“No more than I am, Brienne,” Jaime replied, tenderly. He brought his own hand to her face. “I’ve never… This is all new to me too. I’ve never felt this before. _Ever_. With her,” he omitted Cersei’s name for both their sakes, “it was different. I’ve never had to tell anyone how I feel before. I’ve never been with anyone else. Brienne, I’m just as terrified as you.”

“I doubt that,” she laughed shyly. “I’m a maid, and… I’ve never even considered there might be a time when that would matter. I don’t know _how_ to be with you.”

He was upset that she was worried about that. “Nobody does at first, Brienne. That’s the beauty of it. We figure it out together. All that matters to me right now is that you love me. I don’t need anything else from you, until you want it too.” He smiled at her.

Truthfully, he was as petrified as she was. Sex with Cersei came easy, naturally; they were two bodies of the same soul, or so she’d manipulated him to believe. He knew her body like he knew his own. A sexual relationship with Brienne would be different entirely; there was love and respect between them, but the two of them also bore a lot of insecurities and vulnerabilities. It was bound to be more intimate, exposing, _consuming.._. Jaime was intimidated and excited by the prospect in equal measure, but he could wait as long as Brienne needed.

“I want it,” she said, “but not right now.” Jaime kissed her cheek reverently.

“I love you.”

“I love you.” Brienne’s voice was shy. “But I really should go.”

“Must you?” Jaime’s voice wavered. “Can’t you stay? I don’t think I can sleep alone yet.” He knew he was being selfish. She had already been in his chamber long enough to cause suspicion; her reputation would be in tatters.

Her response surprised him. “I suppose I could, if that’s what you’d like of me.”

He kissed her cheek again. “Thank you,” he murmured against the soft skin there. “I think the only way I’ll get any rest is knowing you’re safe and alive beside me. Just let me hold you.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Jaime, I promise,” she replied. “Though, I must admit, I could do with some sleep.”

“Come on then,” Jaime said, as he stood, offering his hand to help her up. She took it, and he carefully unwrapped some of the furs from around her neck, before awkwardly laying them out on the bed, struggling with only one hand. He pulled them back for her on one side, and gestured for her to get beneath them when she shivered slightly. He walked around to the other side of the bed again, and climbed in himself.

Brienne was laying on her back, rigid, and she was as far over to one side as she could physically get without falling out. She looked more than uncomfortable.

Jaime turned onto his side to face her, though there was a foot and a half between them. “You can come closer, you know,” he murmured. She looked at him, flushed. “You sleep on your side, don’t you? Get yourself comfortable.”

“How do you know that?”

“Our time in captivity. I didn’t do a lot of sleeping after they took my hand… I remember how peaceful you always looked when you were curled to one side, sleeping. It was much nicer to watch you asleep than it was to look at you awake; all you did was glare at me.”

Brienne laughed softly. “We were awful to each other.”

“Truly,” Jaime laughed too. “But you looked after me so well. No wonder I fell for you. Come on, make yourself comfortable. I know the bed’s not great, but you can at least relax into it.”

Brienne took one last look at him, smiling, before she rolled onto her side, away from him. He shuffled himself into the vacant space between them, and, encircling her waist with his arms, he pulled her backwards into his chest. “Now I don’t have to worry about you falling out of my bed,” he breathed onto the back of her neck.

He moved his stump to rest delicately on her hip, and he felt her hand move to it, holding it firmly. Her willingness to touch the most horrific part of him made Jaime nearly choke up; she had touched it more times at Winterfell than Cersei ever had. It was touching that she felt comfortable enough to embrace that part of him; he couldn't believe his luck. Eventually, he felt her breathing grow heavy and more rhythmic, nearly asleep now, and he pressed his lips to the back of her neck adoringly. With his future safe beside him, it wasn’t long until sleep finally came to Jaime too.


	13. Lions at War

Brienne of Tarth was the first to awaken. The first thing that jumped to her attention was that she was not in her own chamber. The second was that Jaime Lannister was wrapped protectively around her back. The third was that she was painfully aware of her arms.

A lot had happened in the space of 24 hours.

Though she’d lost a chunk of her ankle to a ravenous wight, the agony in her arms was much worse. _That’s what you get for slaying a dragon_ , she thought to herself, still somewhat disbelieving her own actions. She needed to move them, to stretch them; her muscles were beginning to cramp. She tried, hopelessly, to stretch them where she lay, but it was difficult to do so on her side, and, though she had moved only slightly, she felt Jaime stir behind her. She tensed nervously, before she felt his arms tighten around her waist, pulling her further into his chest. Her heart raced as he placed a gentle kiss on the nape of her neck.

“You don’t regret it, then?” Brienne asked, as she anxiously turned to face him.

Jaime, whose eyes were still adjusting to the light, watched as she met his gaze tentatively. “Brienne… I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.” He continued looking into her eyes, unsure what he saw there. “Do _you_ have any regrets?”

“No,” Brienne said quickly, adamantly, though she tore her gaze from his own nervously.

“You don’t have to be afraid, you know,” Jaime said, his voice still gruff from sleep. He lightly ran his stump along her waist to her hips and back again over her nightgown, enjoying the feel of her body pressed to his own. Out of her armour, Brienne was _softer_. He’d told her as much last night, but that was the only way he could describe it. She was a warrior in armour, tough and untouchable; Jaime had always been captivated by her fighting prowess, but she had always been somewhat distant. Her armour was her duty; in it, she was naught but a soldier.

Without her armour, however, Jaime could see Brienne the woman, the shy maiden that she concealed so well. She had been open and honest, and she had pushed her biggest insecurities aside to approach Jaime last night. He knew she was more nervous than she showed.

“I’m not afraid,” she replied, though her trembling voice betrayed her.

“Prove it,” he dared her, the traces of a smirk beginning at the corners of his lips.

So she did. Gathering all her confidence, Brienne pulled his head towards hers and kissed him slowly. Jaime happily obliged, continuing to run his arm down her side. He deepened the kiss and was surprised when Brienne ran her leg up the length of his own, before hooking it over his hip and drawing him closer. It took all of Jaime’s strength to control himself, not wanting to scare her off… but he really, _really_ wanted her.

Too soon, she pulled her lips away; their bottom halves still pressed together. “I don’t want to, but I really should go check on Pod,” Brienne said.

Jaime groaned, burying his face in the material at her breast. “I had no idea you’d be such a tease,” he said. Sighing deeply, he tried to straighten himself up as best he could with Brienne’s leg still wrapped around him. “I suppose I should probably find my brother.” He kissed the top of her head. “You’ll come straight back to me, won’t you?”

“Where else would I go?” Brienne smiled, but she eased the weight of her leg off Jaime as she too tried to sit up. Jaime missed its presence almost immediately.

“Didn’t Lady Sansa wish to speak to you? Will you find her too once you’ve seen to Pod?”

“I suppose I better had,” Brienne said. “Oh, erm… Lady Sansa… she– she was right.”

“About what?”

“That you love me,” she replied, shyly.

_So the Stark girl knew before either of us did_. “She’s observant, I’ll give her that. I wonder what she’ll have to say about us now.”

“You wouldn’t mind then?” Brienne asked, as Jaime raised an eyebrow in confusion. “If I were to tell her, I mean… about us. I wouldn’t mind if you didn’t want people to know…”

“Brienne,” Jaime placed his hand beneath her chin and forced her to look at him, “I want everyone from the Arbor to the Wall to know how much you mean to me. I’ve waited long enough for this, for you…”

Brienne could do nothing but smile at him, taken aback. But Jaime had had to hide his relationship with Cersei; there was no way he was keeping this a secret. Even if he wanted to, he didn’t think he had it in him to hide his love from everyone. If Sansa Stark had figured it out, he obviously didn’t do a good job of concealing his feelings. He leaned in to kiss her, the sweet smile on her face luring him in again.

“We should move, Jaime.”

“I know,” he sighed, rolling his eyes, but he pulled away from her anyway. He walked to the small chest of drawers to the side of his room and pulled out a clean pair of breeches and a tunic, before throwing his cloak at her. He hadn’t intended for it to hit her in the face, but he couldn’t repress the snigger that escaped his lips when it did.

“Jaime!” Brienne cried. “What was that for?”

“You’ll need it. I’m more than happy to share our relationship with the realm, but do you really want to walk out of my chamber in naught but a nightgown? I imagine you’d give Pod quite a fright if you turned up at his door like that,” he said. Brienne blushed.

“I suppose so. Will you walk me back to my chamber?” Brienne asked, watching as Jaime removed the tunic he had slept in. Her eyes were drawn to the muscles in his abdomen which flexed as he raised his arms above his head, and her blush deepened when he caught her looking.

Jaime smirked at her expression, but otherwise didn’t take advantage of the opportunity to mock her. “Of course I will,” he said, walking over to her and kissing the top of her head.

Brienne reached out to his chest and began to softly trace the trail of bruises which ran from his sternum, across his pectorals, and down to his abdomen. The fight had really taken its toll on both of them. “Does it hurt much?”

“Nothing in comparison to this.” Jaime held up his stump. “How do you feel?”

“Sore, but I’ll live.” Brienne replied, before adding shyly, “I’ll take pain over a life without you every time. I’m so glad neither of us died before we got a chance to talk.”

Jaime grinned at her words. “You are such a bloody girl; I had no idea you'd be so soft! It’s endearing,” he added when she shot him a warning look. “I don’t know what I did to deserve your love, but, gods, I can’t tell you how pleased I am to know you feel it too.”

He walked closer to where she sat on the edge of the bed, and pulled her into an embrace, her head resting on his bare chest. Jaime’s eyes closed when Brienne wrapped her strong arms around him in return, and they held each other close for a short while. Somehow, the hug felt more intimate to Jaime than their kisses. He could think of no better feeling than holding her in his arms.

He pulled away eventually, placing another kiss on her head and continuing to get changed. “The sooner we go, the sooner we can come back,” he laughed at her.

“Right,” Brienne said, although she suddenly didn’t feel like going anywhere. She watched out of the corner of her eyes as Jaime fumbled with the laces of his breeches with his left hand, looking away in sheer embarrassment when they dropped to the floor around his ankles. She gave him a few moments before daring to look back, by which point he had a clean pair around his hips.

“Do you need some help?” Brienne asked, her voice coming out not much louder than a whisper as she watched him struggle to tie the laces. Quiet though she was, he heard her. He turned to look at her, before nodding and walking towards her. He had been holding one of the laces down with his stump and trying to weave the other around it with his left hand, but it looked terribly difficult. He obviously had the knack down after all these years, but Brienne wondered how long it would have taken him to do it had she not offered her assistance.

Jaime walked over to her on the edge of the bed again and stopped just in front of her. He tried not to laugh at the expression on her face. In her eagerness to help him, Jaime realised she had failed to consider what she had offered to do. She looked mortified and terrified at the same time as her hands shook, moving towards the laces at his crotch. Jaime knew she would not dare look at him, and, when she deftly tied the knot with speed, he was sorely disappointed that he’d missed his chance to tease her.

He smirked at her nonetheless. “Thank you, my lady. Perhaps you can help me untie them later on.”

Brienne was startled by his flirting; she did not know how to reply, so she simply rose from the bed, turning her back to him to fasten his cloak around her shoulders. It was too late, though; Jaime had already seen the blush.

“I’m only teasing, Brienne,” he murmured into her ear, as he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. “Are you ready?”

“I believe so,” she replied. He leaned around her, placing a kiss on her cheek before he pulled her towards the door.

“You can lean on me again if you need to,” he offered, nodding towards her wounded ankle.

“Thank you,” Brienne said.

When Jaime made to turn the doorknob, she reached out for his hand to stop him. “Erm– I just wanted– I just– I love you,” she mumbled, flustered, before quickly kissing him on his cheek as he had done to her so many times already.

Jaime looked at her stunned. He’d never known such sweet affection in his life. “I love you too,” he replied, his green eyes softer than ever as he gazed into Brienne’s.

They stepped out into the corridor, their arms around each other as they had been last night, but this time they could hold onto each other as tightly as they needed to without fearing the other would think too much into it.

Winterfell was quiet. Eerily so. No sounds filled the corridors from the usually bustling courtyard, and it seemed that everyone was either still sleeping, or silently mourning. The emptiness had a solemnity that brought the realities of the previous night’s battle right back to Jaime. Their losses had been enormous, but somehow they had made it out alive. The two of them made their way to Brienne’s chamber in no time at all, and Jaime’s heart sank at the thought of being without her, even for a few hours. He suddenly felt that time without her was wasted time.

She turned to him in front of her door, and, exactly as he had done in the early hours of the morning, Jaime rose onto his tiptoes to kiss her forehead again. “Until later, my lady,” he smiled at her. A promise. This time, there were no mixed messages.

“Later,” she repeated, before turning into her chamber. Jaime turned to make his way back down the corridor when he heard footsteps approaching him.

“Brother!” Tyrion was walking towards him. They embraced each other as they had last night. “How do you fare today? Any pain?”

“I’m achy, bruised, but otherwise well,” Jaime replied. “I can hardly feel the wound on my side. I think the combination of wine and milk of the poppy is the trick to long-term pain relief.” He laughed.

“And the love of a woman?” Tyrion smiled knowingly, raising an eyebrow. “I saw Ser Brienne with you just then. In a nightgown and _your_ cloak, no less! You don’t hang about.”

Jaime smiled wryly. He knew Tyrion of all people would have something to say on the matter. “She came to me,” he said.

“Couldn’t resist your Lannister charms, eh?” Tyrion japed. “So she feels the same?”

“Impossibly, yes.” Jaime couldn’t fight the smile on his face.

“I told you so! I’m happy for you, brother.” The frown that appeared suddenly on Tyrion’s face suggested otherwise. “I almost hate to tell you what I’m about to…”

“Tyrion?” Jaime asked warily, concerned by the look on his brother’s face.

“Follow me, we’ll go some place we can chat properly,” Tyrion suggested.

Jaime followed as Tyrion led the way into a small meeting chamber a few corridors down from where they had been. Tyrion gestured towards a seat and Jaime took it, eyeing his brother suspiciously as he lowered himself into a chair across the table from him.

“Spit it out, then,” Jaime urged. “What could possibly take away my happiness now I’ve survived death and found love?”

“ _Cersei_.”

Jaime’s blood ran cold at the mention of her name. “I don’t understand.”

“Jaime, she needs you.”

“I assure you, the only place I’m needed is with Brienne.”

“Queen Daenerys intends to march for King’s Landing as soon as tomorrow. She aims to take the Iron Throne by force… Cersei’s not like to give it up easily”

“Let her try to take it. It’s on Cersei if she gets herself in harm’s way. She would have had me killed; forgive me if I don’t much want to put myself in harm’s way to protect her. I don’t care about kings and queens and their questionable politics anymore. I’ve had enough of all that. I left Cersei for a reason. I’m done with her, and I’m done with serving hapless, undeserving monarchs!” Jaime was angry now.

“But you’re the only one she’ll listen to, Jaime! You can get her out of there safely! You know how stubborn she is, she’ll burn alive before handing over the throne.”

“So be it,” he replied. In truth, he was terrified for his sister, but his heart was elsewhere now. He had spent such a large percentage of his life believing the two of them were one and the same, that they must live together, love together, and die together; the thought of living on whilst she did not was frightening. But, still, Jaime’s resolve was set. _I will not go._

“She might be insane but she’s still our sister. The Golden Company is no match for _dragonfire_. Don’t you care that she’ll die?”

“Of course I care!” Jaime growled, taking a moment to calm himself before continuing. “But she’s never once truly listened to me, and, truthfully, I’m tired of being just another pawn for her to play around with. I left her for a reason. I’m not crawling back to her.”

“Just think about it,” Tyrion said.

“My business is with Brienne now. _Yours_ is supposed to be with the Targaryen, is it not? You’re going to get yourself persecuted for treason at this rate! Or is that what you want? Is this your final act against Father to have every last Lannister decimated?” Jaime rose from his seat angrily, pacing to the window and back.

“So you’re really not going to do anything to help her?”

“I’m not. I can’t.”

The tension was high and the silence felt everlasting. Eventually, Tyrion spoke again.

“I guess this is it, then, brother. We leave tomorrow. I’ve done well to survive so far, but… if my Queen doesn’t kill me, I know Cersei will.”

“We’ll see one another again. We will,” Jaime said adamantly. “Maybe I’ll come visit you in King’s Landing… or you could join us for dinner every fortnight.”

“That was a game, Jaime. We both know it was nothing more than fantasy,” Tyrion smiled sadly. “Look after her. And make sure she looks after you. You deserve a good life.”

Jaime embraced his brother warmly. Though he could more or less convince himself that he’d get over Cersei’s death, he knew he would not get over Tyrion’s. He feared what might happen in King’s Landing. “Stay safe, brother.”

***

When Brienne of Tarth returned to her own chambers later that day, she was surprised to see Jaime Lannister already sitting on her bed. “Oh,” she smiled in surprise. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”

He rose automatically when she entered the room. “I apologise, my lady. I hate to be here without your permission but I–”

“You don’t have to apologise. I was going to come and find you anyway,” she walked towards him. “Don’t stand on my account.”

His returning smile was weak. When she was close enough, he reached out to her and pulled her to him, kissing her cheek. He waited until she sat down to do the same. Brienne did not like his silence. _He regrets this already._

“If you’re not happy, say so now,” Brienne said nervously. “I thought you might come to regret it.” _Stupid, stupid girl._

Jaime’s expression was wounded. “I regret nothing, Brienne,” he replied, reaching for her hand and squeezing it. “My feelings for you aren’t going anywhere.”

Brienne was not convinced; the worry on his face was plain to see, and he was deep in thought. “Then why do you look as though you’re hurting? Have I done something? Is it something I haven’t done that’s upset you?”

“Brienne,” Jaime sighed, “it’s nothing. You could never hurt me.” He moved his head closer and kissed her gently; Brienne doubted she would ever get tired of the feeling of his lips on hers. She pulled away after a few moments nonetheless, determined to find out what was troubling him.

“Won’t you share it with me? If there’s something worrying you, I want to help.”

“It’s nothing, just… _family_ nonsense,” Jaime replied distantly. “I’ll be fine.”

“Family? Is it Tyrion?”

He nodded.

“And Cersei,” he barely whispered, not looking her in the eyes. Brienne tried to conceal her reaction; she did not know how to approach the topic of his sister.

“Oh,” she paused. “Will you return to her?”

Jaime’s returning look was something like anger. “I thought I’d already told you that nothing could make me go back to her! I love _you_ , Brienne. She means nothing to me.”

“That’s a lie,” Brienne said, cautiously. She didn’t want to have an argument with him, but he obviously needed to discuss this with someone.

“That I love you?” He was truly angry now.

“That she means nothing to you! We both know that’s not true.”

“I can’t save her; I don’t _want_ to save her. She’s hateful. It’s not my place to look after her anymore,” Jaime insisted.

“Is she in danger?”

“No more than I am. It’s the Targaryen girl; Tyrion says she’s going to take the throne by force. We all know that means with fire. Cersei’s not like to give it up so easily, but there’s nothing that I could do that might prevent that.”

“Couldn’t you reason with her? Pledge your allegiance to Daenerys and try to talk Cersei into stepping down peacefully?” Brienne suggested, although she didn’t even convince herself.

“You obviously don’t know her at all, Brienne,” Jaime rebuked the idea. “She wouldn’t pay any more attention to what I’d say than she would to shit on her shoe. Tyrion said the same; he said I should travel with them to King’s Landing, swear fealty to the dragon queen and get Cersei out safely, but it’s idealistic at best. It would never work.”

“I think you should go,” Brienne said nervously. Jaime looked at her in confusion. “I don’t want you to go, obviously, but I think you’d regret it if you didn’t try. She’s your _sister_. We both know she’s more than that.”

“My place is with you,” he insisted.

“Then I’ll travel too,” Brienne declared. “I could leave Pod to take care of Lady Sansa, I’m sure she’d have no objections if I explained it to her. I can’t have you staying here with me, missing your chance to save her, and resenting me for it for the rest of your life. I know you, Jaime. You’ll regret it. Do it for King’s Landing if not for Cersei. You’ve saved its people from burning once, you might be able to help again.”

She knew it was a low blow to guilt him into going, but she knew him well enough to know he would not stand for thousands of innocent people to burn for the sake of his sister’s pride. Jaime started to argue with her, but she continued before he could.

“Look. All we have to do is travel. If we get to King’s Landing and you decide you can’t do it, well, fair enough, but instead of sitting at Winterfell moping over your decision, you can at least give yourself the opportunity.”

“The only thing I’ll achieve by travelling to King’s Landing is getting the both of us killed!” Jaime looked at her, green fury in his eyes. “She’s not worth my time. I won’t have you put in danger for her sake.”

“Jaime…”

“She broke me, Brienne.” The look he gave Brienne was wounded, deeply sorrowful. Brienne reached for his hand. “I spent so long under her spell that I forgot where she ended and I began. I only began to see her for what she truly is when I found you. She’s manipulative, abusive… If I see her again, I don’t know what I’ll do. You say I might regret it if I don’t go, but I daren’t see her again, I daren’t.”

Brienne moved closer to him, pulling him into a tight embrace. He was trembling, but she could not decipher whether it was more to do with anger or fear. He buried his face into her neck, and she kissed the top of his head. “It’s okay,” she said. “I’m here for you; I won’t push you to go if you don’t wish to.”

“You’re too good to me,” he murmured against her neck.

But Brienne thought otherwise. In truth, she knew she was being selfish, but she was incredibly relieved that he had no inclination to return to his sister. As much as she appreciated Jaime wanting to stay with her, she knew she could do more to persuade him to go. She knew him well enough to know that he _should_ go; his sanity depended on it.

So, when he awoke suddenly in the early hours of the morning, breathing heavily after a nightmare of sorts, she was not surprised when he changed his mind.

“I’m going,” Jaime assented, breathless, whilst Brienne tried groggily to turn him. “I have to try. Will you come?”

Though Brienne feared that upon seeing Cersei again, he might wish to go back to her, she was pleased he had decided to travel. She knew all too well how regret affected him mentally, and she was glad he would not live to regret not going. It was a stupid question, really, for him to ask her if she would accompany him. _When a man like Jaime Lannister says he loves you,_ she thought, _you’d be mad to let him out of your sight._

“Of course I will,” Brienne murmured.

“I have no right to ask it of you, really. I’m being selfish again.”

“I’m _choosing_ to go with you, Jaime. It’s my decision to follow you,” she assured him.

“You were right. I don’t know what I’ll do when I see her, or if I’ll even want to see her when I get there, but I can’t sit here and wait for news from Tyrion. I need to give myself the chance to do something, at least, if only to stop the whole place from going up in flames.” He kissed her on the lips, before murmuring, “Thank you for being my voice of reason.”

Brienne felt mixed emotions: relief, fear, but mostly _love_. She berated herself for fearing that Jaime might leave her for Cersei. _He’s a good man_ , she thought, _and he’s honest. He wouldn’t say he loved you if he didn’t mean it_. They would go to King’s Landing together, and they would leave King’s Landing together. For the first time, Brienne was absolutely certain of his feelings for her. Safe in his arms, she knew he would not, could not leave her for Cersei now; she knew him too well and loved him too much to think so little of him.

She kissed him back, and, for a while, the two of them forgot about the world outside Brienne’s chamber. They forgot about the war for the throne. For a while, they could just be Jaime and Brienne, no loyalties, no duties, no fears. But, eventually, Brienne pulled away. “We should speak to Queen Daenerys.”

Jaime groaned beside her. “I knew you’d say that.”

“You know you must. There’s no way she’ll let you try to reason with your sister unless she knows you’re pledged to her side.”

“You know she’ll never take my word for it. I was sworn to her father… look what happened there.”

“Her father was homicidal, Jaime. A Pyromaniac!”

“But I was sworn to him. No matter which way you put it, I killed her father. She has no reason to trust me.”

“Well the only way you’re going to King’s Landing is with her permission. If you don’t kneel to her, she’ll have you killed the minute you take a step in Cersei’s direction. You know I’m right,” Brienne urged.

“I do.”

“I’ll be beside you the whole time.”

He smiled at her weakly. “I just hope Tyrion can persuade her to trust me.”

“You fought alongside her army when you could have stayed with Cersei’s; that has to count for something.”

“Thank you,” Jaime said sincerely. Brienne looked at him confused. “For always seeing the good in me. I don’t deserve you.”

“You have that the wrong way around,” Brienne smiled, though the compliment warmed her heart nonetheless.

“Gods, I love you.”

“And I love you.”

Jaime kissed her again. In a few hours, they would meet with Daenerys and, with any luck, depart Winterfell together. Until then, though, the two of them fell back into a contented sleep, knowing that whatever should befall them, they would make it through together.


	14. To King's Landing

They had been riding, now, for several weeks. Morale was surprisingly high, considering they were all riddled with saddle sores, but they knew that King’s Landing would belong to Daenerys Targaryen within a fortnight; her men were abuzz with optimism.

Jaime Lannister found it hard to comprehend, at first, how easily the Targaryen forces had pushed the Battle of Winterfell to the back of their minds, but he found himself dreaming about the terror less frequently as the nights went on. Of course, there was a new conflict to tackle; his sister played the starring role in his nightmares now, and he feared what might happen when they reached King’s Landing. He feared for Brienne of Tarth’s safety more than his own. Jaime knew Cersei well enough to know she would hate the idea of his heart belonging to anybody but her.

It had been Brienne’s words that had pushed Jaime to ride south, and, though he was not sure yet what he was like to do, he was pleased that riding took his mind off things. Brienne too. She had been wonderful. He knew she feared that Cersei still had a hold over him – gods, even Jaime feared that, though he wouldn’t ever admit it to her – but she had encouraged him to follow his heart nonetheless. And, although he hated to say it, a piece of his heart _would_ always be Cersei’s; they had spent most of their lives together, after all.

His love for Brienne, though, transcended everything he thought possible. He had not known love before her. Her selflessness was admirable; her love was all he needed. She had been right by his side the morning he had gone to address Daenerys Targaryen, just as she was by his side now on the ride south.

They had approached Daenerys together, hand in hand, and pledged their fealty to her. At first, she had sneered at Jaime. “Why should I trust the word of the man who killed my father?”

“I can only give you my word, my queen,” Jaime had replied shakily. “My sister is stubborn. I know her very well; better than Tyrion ever could I assure you. She is not the rightful queen, but she’ll put up a fight. Allow me, please, to reason with her. It’s the only way to save innocent lives. Hold back on the dragonfire, hold back on taking the capital by force; the throne _will_ be yours, but allow me to get my sister out of there safely. Imprison her if you wish, throw away the key, but don't let others perish at her guilty hands. Their lives are worth much more than hers.”

“What gives you the audacity to think you might presume to tell me what I should do, kingslayer?”

“Yes. I killed your father. I broke my vow. I know. But it was not without good reason,” Jaime had declared. Brienne, at his side, had squeezed his hand; she knew how much he did not want to talk about the Mad King. Her comforting touch spurred him on. “Tell me, my queen, do you want to spill innocent blood? Would you willingly wipe out an entire city of innocent lives to get what you want?”

“Of course not,” her eyes had narrowed.

“Then you are already better than your father. The day I put my sword through his back, do you know what he had asked of me? Do you know what he intended to do?”

Daenerys had said nothing, so Jaime had continued.

“ _Burn them all_. That’s what he’d said. He’d told his pyromancer to ignite the wildfire, burn the blasted city down. He didn’t care if thousands of innocent men, women and children died, as long as he won that gods-forsaken war. _Burn them all_. Yes, I might have sworn an oath to protect your father, but I was also charged to protect the innocent. By keeping one vow, I forsook another, but I’d do it again. One guilty life for a thousand innocent lives? Every time. You can hate me for what I did, but I didn’t take glee in it. I was a boy, and that white cloak ruined me for life.”

“I see,” Daenerys had said, taking it in. “But my father was only rightfully protecting what was his.”

“The throne was his, yes. But he had no right to those innocent lives. You might think me a dishonourable man, but I’ve carried the weight of that my whole adult life; like it or not, I saved King’s Landing that day. I can’t stand idly by whilst you war with my sister if innocent lives are at stake. Let me talk to her. Let me get her out of there in one piece. She’s yours to do with as you wish from that point on, but don’t bring innocent people into this. Take what’s rightfully yours, but do so without fire and without blood.”

And, amazingly, Daenerys had consented. Though she did not forgive Jaime for his actions, she at least understood his motivation behind them. She respected his wish to keep innocent people well out of the way. They had called a truce; Jaime and Brienne were riding with her army less than two hours later.

Tyrion had, of course, been elated to see his brother join their forces. “You’ve decided to join us, then?”

“Brienne can be very persuasive,” Jaime had replied, turning to smile warmly at Brienne as he did so. In truth, though he did not much like the prospect of arriving in the capital, he was pleased to spend every minute of the day with Brienne. On the road, they had no duties to attend to. They could talk about anything and everything, and he relished their time together.

Brienne had blushed at his words. “It was your decision.”

“But you led me to it,” he had smiled, effectively silencing her.

“So… the plan.” It didn’t take Tyrion long to decide what they were to do. “We sneak in via the tunnels you allowed me to escape from. There’s no way into Maegor’s Holdfast, but I can get us into the Keep. We’ll just have to stay low until we find Cersei. Once she sees you, she’ll think you’ve come in peace, that you've come crawling back to her, and she’ll stand her men down.”

“What about you? She’ll have you killed on sight.”

“My quick wit has saved my life many times, I’m hoping I’ll be able to talk myself out of it somehow,” Tyrion had said, though it did not put Jaime’s mind at ease. “With any luck, we’ll be able to get her in chains before any of her men get to us.”

“I won’t hold my breath.”

Jaime thought the plan was hopeless if he was being honest, but he didn’t let Tyrion know that. He had no better ideas to offer. The chances of evading everyone in the Red Keep on the way to her chambers in Maegor's Holdfast would be nigh impossible. The chances of Cersei giving in easily were non-existent. They would have to put much more thought into their strategy before they attempted anything. The only positive was that they had a couple more weeks to figure out a better solution, not that Jaime held out hope that they might come up with one.

He tried not to dwell on his doubts, as much for Brienne’s sake as his own. He knew she worried for him. She knew how much of a hold Cersei had on him, and he recognised the fear in her eyes whenever conversation shifted to his sister. She feared for what it might do to him mentally to see her again, and Jaime feared the same. In truth, he feared it would break him. He did not want Brienne to see him for the weak fool Cersei made of him.

“Jaime?” Brienne’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Yes, my love?” He replied. He knew she’d grown fond of the term of endearment.

She smiled at him. “Might we stop at the inn at the Crossroads? My ankle… it could do with a soak.”

“Does it hurt much?”

“Not anymore,” she said, though she smiled at his concern.

“Good,” he replied. “We’ll stay the night; we can catch up with the rest on the morrow. It’ll do us good to sleep on a proper bed.” When he said _us_ , he really meant _me_ ; his back had been crying out in agony having slept on the floor for weeks on end. He was no longer the youthful knight of his past, and camping was no longer enjoyable to him. A long soak would no doubt do him good as well.

The further south they travelled, the longer the days lasted. The sun was still shining, but it had begun its descent; it would not be long before the rest of the camp would stop to eat. When they did stop, Jaime let their intentions be known to the nearest Unsullied, and he and Brienne continued down the King’s Road until they came to the inn. They paid for supper and one night’s stay, and then hurried to the canteen.

Riding was hard work, unforgiving. They did not realise how hungry they were or how achy they had been until they sat at the bench with their broth. They ate in silence, devouring it as if they’d been starved for months. In reality, it had been merely hours since they had broken their fast in the morn, but oats could only fill their bellies so much. When he had finished, Jaime looked to Brienne and smiled at her; she was eating fast, greedily trying to sate her hunger, but she could barely keep her eyes open. He smiled at the sight of her fighting off sleep.

“I think somebody could do with a kip,” Jaime said gently.

“I didn’t think I was tired until I sat down here.” Brienne smiled at him sleepily.

“Let’s head on up, then,” Jaime suggested, reaching for her hand to lead her to the guestroom they had paid for.

It was much larger than both of their Winterfell chambers had been, and the bed looked extremely welcoming. No sooner had Brienne walked through the door than she had kicked off her boots and climbed onto the bed. Jaime laughed softly at her eagerness, before placing their belongings neatly to one side and going to draw the drapes closed. There was another doorway in the room, and Jaime went to investigate, intrigued. He was surprised to find their own bathtub and a looking glass propped against the wall. He returned to Brienne, excited to tell her they had a private tub but she was already sound asleep. He looked at her fondly, her face peaceful in sleep; he kissed her forehead lightly, and climbed into bed beside her. For once, he didn’t dream of Winterfell, death, or Cersei.

***

When Brienne awoke, she was somewhat disconcerted. Had she been asleep for long? Was that a nap or a full night’s sleep? She could not tell whether the drapes over the window were thick enough to block out sunlight or whether the sun still had yet to rise. She rolled onto her back, reaching with her hand to find Jaime’s, but she was alone in the bed. Jaime was no longer there.

She sat up quickly, suddenly panicking that coming here had been a mistake. Perhaps it had been asking too much of him to expect him to save his manipulative sister. “Jaime?” she called softly, stupidly. She had not expected an answer, so she jumped when she heard his voice call back to her, slightly muffled, from behind a wall she had not seen before. In her tired stupor, Brienne had dropped onto the bed like a sack of neeps almost instantly. She had not noticed the second doorway.

“I’m through here,” Jaime told her. Relieved, Brienne got out of bed and went to see what he was getting up to.

“Did you think I’d gone?” he asked innocently, though he sat in the bathtub, naked as his nameday, smirking at her. Brienne blushed.

“I didn’t know where you were,” she replied, not knowing where to look. She finally found his eyes. He gazed at her fiercely, and she felt something tighten in her stomach.

“You know I wouldn’t leave you, don’t you?” His eyes continued to speak to her soul.

“I do,” she replied _._

Then, surprising herself, she asked, “Would you mind if I were to join you?”

Jaime was momentarily shocked, but he quickly rearranged his features into his trademark smirk. “I’d be more offended if you _didn’t_ join me, my lady.” The fire in his eyes had returned, stronger this time. Brienne’s heart was racing.

Slowly, she undressed herself. When she had untied the laces of her tunic, she pulled it over her head; her face flamed when she dared to chance a look at Jaime’s expression. A man had never looked at her in such a way before. She never thought anyone would. And, yet, Jaime Lannister _wanted_ her, that much was evident. Sometimes, when he looked at her, she knew he was looking at the woman as opposed to the warrior; right now, though, he looked as though he were looking at a deity. Her heart thrashed violently against her ribcage.

She moved onto her breeches, fumbling a little with the laces this time as her hands had begun to tremble with nerves. Jaime hadn’t taken his eyes off her for a second. When she had the knot undone, she slowly pulled them down one leg at a time, and then very ungracefully stepped out of them. When she’d tried to remove her injured ankle, she’d caught it on the hem and had very nearly fallen head first onto the ground. _That’s seductive_ , she thought to herself sarcastically. As if she hadn’t already been embarrassed enough as it was.

“Are you okay?” Jaime murmured, his voice lower than she had ever heard it. “Did you catch your ankle?”

“I’m fine,” Brienne replied quickly, her face on fire.

“I had no idea your blush travels all the way down your chest,” he mused, as his eyes travelled all the way down her now naked body. Exposed though she was, his gaze did not make her feel uncomfortable. “It’s beautiful.” His eyes returned to her own. “ _You’re_ beautiful.”

Brienne didn’t know how to reply to him; she had learnt to accept his love, but she still did not know how a man could look at someone like her and be attracted to what he saw there. Instead of replying, she nervously approached the bathtub and sat on the edge. She submerged her left leg in the warm water, allowing it to soak whilst she started working on unravelling the bandage around her healing ankle. She didn’t get very far before Jaime made his way closer to her.

“Allow me.” His left hand pushed her own hand away, and he slowly continued to unwrap it. With his short, right arm, he stroked her other calf up and back down again. His touch felt lighter, smoother beneath the water; Brienne suddenly longed for his touch in places she had never been touched. She was _very_ aware of how close their bodies were. She felt something she had never felt before deep within her core; she wanted him in the same way he wanted her. She wanted him desperately.

When he finished, he lightly tossed the dirty bandage onto the floor to one side and brought her leg towards him slightly as he placed a gentle kiss where she had been bitten. “That’s looking a lot healthier,” he said, his voice unusually husky. Brienne’s own breaths were much shallower, much heavier now; she was deeply aware that she was very much exposed to him as she sat on the side of the tub. Jaime must have read her mind, because he lowered her ankle into the water, before grabbing her waist to pull her fully into the water with him. She let out a sigh of relief when the warmth embraced her. Jaime placed a chaste kiss on her lips but pulled away before she could respond to it, and he carefully guided her body to turn around so that her back was to him. _At least he can’t see the embarrassment plastered on my face now_ , Brienne thought, although her mind was racing with excitement and nerves.

She felt his hand on her back as he gently scrubbed at it with a bar of soap, and she jumped at the sudden touch. He started at the top of her spine and made his way down in leisurely circles, making sure every inch of her back was clean. Once he reached the base of her spine, he began making his way up her waist painfully slowly. His hand ran up her left side, tracing her hip to her waist, and, then _, finally_ , to her breast. He took it in his hand from behind, gently running the soap over it briefly, too briefly, before he turned Brienne around so he could repeat the action on her right side. She watched his face as he ran his hand over her waist and then her breast again; the hunger in his eyes was almost too much for her. When his eyes finally met her own, he let out a shaky breath.

“I love you,” he murmured, and he let the soap drop out of his hand; she would just have to finish washing herself another time. He pulled her closer by the waist, and dipped his head to kiss where she had been maimed in the bearpit before he had come so unexpectedly to her rescue. She’d known then how she felt; back then, though, she would never have believed he’d one day be kissing those scars. His beard was coarse against the delicate skin there, but it only made Brienne shiver. He continued to kiss along her collarbone towards her neck, and then eagerly made his way up her neck when he got there. When he kissed the spot where her neck met her jawline, Brienne couldn’t hold back a moan.

“Gods, Brienne–” Jaime started to say, but Brienne had pulled his mouth to her own, needing to feel his tongue against hers. Brienne was almost embarrassed by how eager she was, but she was enjoying herself too much to care; his kisses always left her breathless, but this was something else entirely. Their kiss was hungrier than usual, their touches less gentle. When she eventually pulled away to catch her breath, Jaime looked at her like the lion he was... As though she were his prey.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” he growled, the passion blazing in his eyes. Brienne didn’t know how to respond with words, so she pulled him back to her, kissing him even more intensely than before. She ran her left hand through his hair, while she traced his spine downwards with the fingertips of her right. Brienne could not believe she was having this effect on Jaime Lannister of all people; a man as beautiful as him with a woman like her seemed ridiculous. And, yet, for the first time in her life, she did, truly, feel beautiful.

As they kissed, she pushed him backwards and he willingly obliged. When he came to a stop, she knew he must have reached the step. She gently pushed his shoulder down, and he understood her intention. He lowered himself so that he was sitting on the step, and Brienne wasted no time in climbing onto his lap, astride him. A fire burned deep within Brienne as she felt the very physical evidence of his desire pressed hard against her.

Jaime’s hand was at her waist again, but he gently pushed her away from him so that he could look into her eyes. “Brienne,” he murmured, his voice gruff. “Are you–”

“I want this. I want _you_ ,” Brienne stated, much more confidently than she felt. She backed it up with another kiss. A low rumble sounded in Jaime’s chest, almost a growl, and, then, suddenly, he wrapped his good arm tight around her back, his short arm coming to rest under her left thigh, as he lifted the two of them easily out of the water, Brienne still wrapped around him. He kissed her again, and she marvelled at his strength when he climbed the three steps out of the tub, careful not to slip as their bodies dripped water all over the floor. _He did tell you he was strong enough_ , Brienne thought to herself, barely daring to believe that this was all real.

He didn’t stop to allow either of them dry off. When he reached their bed, he gently dropped Brienne onto it before he climbed over her body, reclaiming her mouth. He was propping his bodyweight up with his left hand, but Brienne couldn’t bear the distance between their bodies anymore; she reached around his shoulders and pulled him down towards her, so that his body pressed hers into the bed.

“Jaime…” she moaned his name. The desperation in her voice shocked even her. “Please.”

Brienne had never wanted anything more in her life; she had never felt more loved, more revered than in this moment. The tenderness with which Jaime stroked her skin was comforting, reassuring, _arousing_. She had never given much thought to the possibility of losing her maidenhead, but she knew she was safe with Jaime. He loved her more than she ever dared to dream, and his love was apparent in every touch, every kiss. She loved him with everything she had, with every breath she took. Their bodies finally as one, she knew their love was untouchable, unbreakable, as if they were always supposed to have found each other. Consumed by their passion, Brienne finally felt true bliss.


	15. A New Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this chapter got wildly out of hand; it's very dense and almost like an entirely separate story, but, hey, it is what it is.  
> Genuinely upset that this lil journey has come to an end, I've had so much fun writing about my two favourite characters of all time. Thank you so much to everybody who's read and stuck with it, especially to those of you who've left such lovely, motivating comments throughout. I don't think I would ever have finished this without the encouragement I got from your kind words!
> 
> Here it is, then: the final chapter.  
> Lots of love to you all <3

_Sweet, sweet sister,_

_I am on my way home to you. Forgive me, I beg._

_I’m sure by now you know that the Targaryen girl is coming for your throne. Allow me to protect you, my queen, my love. Meet me in the throne room on the morrow. Alone. Please. We have much reconnecting to do._

_It won’t be long now, dear, until we’re together again._

_Yours. Always._

_Jaime_

“Is it legible?” he asked, passing the parchment to Brienne. “I can barely form a single letter with this useless hand, let alone a whole bloody message.”

Her sapphire eyes quickly scanned over his scruffy penmanship. “Perfectly legible,” she replied, “if not slightly messy. She’ll be able to read it.” She passed it back to him but she did not meet his eyes. Jaime could tell that the words had upset her, though she wouldn’t ever tell him.

“It’s a ruse, Brienne.” He reached back to squeeze her hand. “I hate that I had to write those words into existence, even think them in my head, but I’m _yours_ , my love. You must know that.”

She smiled at him softly. “Of course I do. I’m just frightened at the thought of you being so involved in all this. I’ll be relieved when it’s all behind us.”

“Likewise,” he said, pulling her hand to his lips so he could place a gentle kiss there. They had stopped just short of King’s Landing to set up camp. Nobody was to enter the capital until the Lannister brothers had attempted to remove their sister from the throne peacefully. Daenerys Targaryen had vowed not to strike forcefully until they knew with certainty that Cersei was a lost cause. Jaime merely hoped he could play his role well; thousands of innocent lives depended on him. Again.

“Get some sleep, love,” he told Brienne, rolling the parchment clumsily with his left hand. “I’d better get this sent. The gods alone know how she’ll receive it; all I can do is pray she’ll place her trust in me one last time.”

“She loves you, Jaime. Of course she’ll trust you,” Brienne replied as she lowered herself onto their makeshift bed on the ground. Jaime frowned at her, unconvinced.

“She wanted me dead the last time we set eyes on each other. I won’t hold my breath that she’s changed her mind.”

“Her reign’s at risk. She’ll be after whatever security she can get. You’re loyal, love, and she knows that well enough. You’re probably the one constant in her life that she’s willing to depend upon, no matter how far she pushed you that last time. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s sat waiting to hear from you, expecting you to grovel for forgiveness for choosing Daenerys’ side over hers.”

“She’ll be sorely offended when she finds out I mean to remove her from the throne, then. Even more so when she finds out about us.” He closed the gap between them; Brienne was now sitting on the floor, her long legs beneath the furs. He bent down to kiss her on the top of her head. “You must promise me you’ll stay safe. I mean it,” he added when she looked at him as if to tell him she could look after herself. “Don’t leave this camp, no matter what. If we can’t get my sister out in time and Daenerys sets the place alight, you must not follow her. Pledged to her or not, I want you safe… and you won’t be safe in King’s Landing as long as Cersei’s still in a position of power.”

“But, Jaime–”

“I’m serious, Brienne. As soon as this is over, I’ll come straight back here to this very tent. Please. Don’t leave it. I don’t want you caught up in all of this.”

Brienne looked at him, emotion swimming in her sapphire eyes. He had expected her to argue with him, but she merely nodded. Jaime was gratefully relieved to know she’d honour his request. All that was left for him to do now was to make sure he got out alive, and ensure everybody else did too. He kissed Brienne softly for a moment, told her he loved her, and then left the tent to find a raven. When it was sent, he wandered for a while, not fully sure where he was going. He walked and walked until he thought he’d better turn around, and, by the time he returned to camp, it was nearly dawn.

He slipped inside the tent. Brienne was sound asleep. He lowered himself to the ground softly, trying his best not to awaken her, and he gently kissed the nape of her neck. He knew he would get no sleep, especially now the sun was on its way up, but he cherished what little time he had left to rest beside Brienne. She must have sensed his arrival, because she turned to him and rested her head on his chest. He wrapped his arm around her.

“Have you been out all night?”

“I needed to clear my head,” Jaime admitted. “I’m afraid of what today might bring. The thought of seeing her again, it– it makes me feel physically sick with nerves.”

Brienne kissed the base of his jaw. “You can still change your mind, you know.”

“I can’t. Not now I’ve come this far. I can’t allow anybody to die for Cersei’s sake now. As long as I have it within me to do something to stop innocent lives being taken, I’ll do whatever I can.”

“You’re a good man,” Brienne murmured, tracing her fingers over his stump.

They lay silently for a time, and Jaime couldn’t help but think of his sister. This would surely be the last time he’d ever see her. He’d get her out of there and then she’d no longer be his problem; he’d finally be free to live the life he so desperately wanted with Brienne. If they could get through the coming day safely, all would be well. Brienne’s steady breathing beside him kept him calm, though his nerves rose with every passing minute.

Eventually, the tent’s opacity began to diminish, betraying the first signs of sunlight. The morning had fully dawned.

“Brother. It’s time we got going,” he heard Tyrion call from just outside their tent. He held Brienne closer to his chest.

“Just a moment, Tyrion,” Jaime called back. Turning to Brienne, he kissed her long and hard, suddenly fearing that this might be their last. She clung onto him as though she feared the same. Neither of them wanted to part, but it was for the good of the realm. If all went well, they would soon be together again.

“I swore to myself I’d never bid you another farewell, my love,” Jaime murmured when he pulled away. He stroked a strand of hair out of her face and cupped her head in his hand. Her sapphire eyes were shining with unshed tears; her sadness nearly broke his heart.

“It’s not goodbye, Jaime… We’ll be together again soon. Tonight,” she said confidently, although neither of them were truly convinced that things would go to plan. Brienne moved her head closer to Jaime’s, resting her forehead against her own. Looking into his eyes, she said, “Don’t let her get to you. You’re better than she is. You always have been.”

Jaime’s eyes closed as he took in her words. “I love you,” he whispered.

“And I love you,” Brienne whispered back. “Go. Save the realm. Be a hero. Just come straight back to me when you can.” She laughed softly, before placing a kiss on his lips. They took solace in their last few moments together, until Jaime really had to go.

“Until later,” he said, kissing her one final time.

“Good luck,” she smiled, although it didn’t reach her eyes. Her fear was now very much apparent. He squeezed her hand reassuringly, and they headed out of their tent together, hand in hand.

“Don’t worry yourself too much, my lady,” Tyrion said when they emerged, taking in the worry etched onto Brienne’s face.

“Look after him,” she replied, although she knew it would most likely be Jaime who would have to look after Tyrion. “And stay safe yourself.”

“Thank you, Brienne,” he smiled at her fondly. “He’ll be back before you know it.”

“I hope so.”

Brienne turned to Jaime one last time and they embraced each other, both of them more scared now than they had been at the prospect of warring with death. Jaime rubbed her back with his stump and kissed her forehead before they finally let one another go.

“Ser Brienne,” said Jaime, a farewell.

“Ser Jaime.” Brienne nodded, as if the love of her life were not about to walk away from her. Jaime could tell she was holding back her tears, but he knew if he dared to say any more he’d choke on his own. They stared at one another wordlessly for what felt like an eternity, but then Tyrion pulled on Jaime’s sleeve and he knew they had to go.

He turned away from Brienne and steeled himself for the day ahead. He knew it was for the best that he settled things with Cersei once and for all; he would never be free from her clutches until he faced her again, until he held her to account for her cruelties towards him over the years.

When they approached the shore, Ser Davos Seaworth sat in a small rowing boat, ready to depart. “Morning, gents,” he called.

“Ser Davos,” Jaime greeted him. He watched as Tyrion settled into the boat first before climbing in beside him. And then they were off. The waters were choppy, but Jaime was surprised to find it calming. He found himself enjoying the feeling of the waves lulling against the boat, and, for a moment, he indulged himself in fantasy, imagining he were rowing out with Brienne along the shores of Tarth. _Soon_ , he thought to himself.

Davos had not long been rowing before Tyrion pointed out towards a small beach cove, barely visible, well-concealed in the steep rockface. “There,” he said. “That’s our way in.”

“Do you know your way through?”

“Not in the slightest,” Tyrion smiled, a wry smile on his face. “That’s why I brought this.” He reached into the knapsack he had carried with him, and pulled out a lengthy coil of a thin fishing rope. “If we take the wrong route, we can turn back on ourselves.”

Jaime was far from reassured. “You’re joking.” Tyrion raised an eyebrow. He was not. “So we could just be wasting our time for no reason?”

“We’ll most definitely be wasting our time, brother. I swore I’d never give Cersei another minute of my time. I could be doing something much more enjoyable with many other women and a flagon of wine.”

Davos laughed in the background. Jaime only looked at Tyrion blankly. “Am I the only one of us taking this seriously? She’s not going to be easy to convince.”

“Jaime, relax. She’ll fall to her knees before you.”

“I’d rather she came nowhere near me.” And he meant it. Jaime could suddenly think of nothing more depraving than her hands on him. He had been tainted by her touch enough. He prayed to the gods that she would keep her distance during their encounter, though he knew they would not listen.

Before long, Davos had rowed them onto the shore, beaching them in the sand. “I’m to stay here, lads. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

“Thank you, ser,” Jaime said, as he stepped clumsily onto the beach. His feet sunk into the sand with every step he took, but they were soon at the cave’s entrance.

“After you then,” Jaime told Tyrion, gesturing for him to take the lead. He had the torch after all. Jaime took up the rear, wielding Widow’s Wail as If they were like to be attacked, though he knew that was unlikely. The Queensguard, as they were presently known, had never stood guard in the tunnels. As they moved further into the damp, dark space, Jaime found himself having to stoop to avoid hitting his head. Tyrion did not have the same problem; he let the rope uncoil behind him, leaving a trail for their way out, when they had safely removed Cersei from the Keep.

“I do hope she hasn’t had these tunnels filled in,” Tyrion thought aloud.

“I swear to the gods I _will_ kill you if this doesn’t go to plan,” Jaime warned.

“If it doesn’t go to plan, dear brother, I fear we’ll both be dead before you get the chance.” Tyrion turned to him smugly. “Trust me, we’ll get to her.”

But Jaime was not so much concerned about getting to Cersei as he was about getting _back_ to Brienne. All of this was for her. He needed to make sure she’d be safe, and the only way she would be was to keep Cersei well away from her. Jaime did not care much for the fate of his sister; he barely thought of her as anything more than an inconvenience anymore.

The further they moved into the tunnels, the more Jaime had to duck, until there came a point where he had to lower himself to his knees and shuffle through. Tyrion laughed at him. Though he pretended to be annoyed with him, Jaime was secretly happy Tyrion was with him. This was not like to be an enjoyable encounter, but he felt more secure knowing Tyrion would be there to keep his temper at bay.

Eventually, they were both on their hands and knees, crawling through the tunnel until they reached a large, well-lit, cavernous chamber. Gratefully, Jaime rose to his feet, stretching his back. Tyrion looked to him. “I’ve been here before. Up there,” he pointed upwards, “is where I killed Father.”

Jaime nodded. “The Tower of the Hand. But that’s not where we’re headed.” He looked around the chamber, where there were five tunnels in addition to the one through which they had entered. “Any ideas?”

“This way,” Tyrion began walking to one of the openings.

“How do you know?”

“I don’t. I’m guessing,” he admitted, guiltily.

“Oh, this is hopeless!” Jaime’s voice echoed around the chamber. He was getting more stressed with every minute that passed. “We’ll never get to her in time at this rate.”

“Just follow me. I know I’ll recognise the route when I see it,” Tyrion tried to reassure him. Jaime had no more argument left in him, and he had no better ideas. It would not do to sit and complain when thousands of innocent lives were at risk; he followed Tyrion down the tunnel. After less than a hundred yards, however, Tyrion turned around. “It’s not this one.”

Jaime rolled his eyes but said nothing, turning in the other direction. “What exactly is it you’re hoping to find? They all look the same to me: dark and damp and wholly unwelcoming. Nothing differentiates one from the other.”

Tyrion did not reply. Jaime was pleased they had brought rope with them, because, frankly, he would not have been able to tell which of the tunnels was their way back to Davos had they not.

“Tyrion, for gods’ sake! What are we doing?”

“The right thing. It’s this one.”

“You said that about the last one.”

“This time I mean it. Look, you can see a good way down it; it’s illuminated by the torches in this chamber. I remember when Varys first led me here that we were in complete darkness before we turned onto a well-lit, lengthy stretch. This is it.”

Jaime huffed to emphasise his frustration, but he followed Tyrion nonetheless. They got much further down this tunnel before Tyrion turned back to him. “Don’t you dare tell me this isn’t the right one either,” he warned.

“I was going to ask how you’re feeling,” Tyrion returned.

“Oh.”

“So, how _are_ you feeling?”

“Wonderful,” Jaime offered sarcastically. They turned a corner before he answered truthfully. “It would be an understatement to say I’m not looking forward to seeing her again. I thought I’d left her in the past, done, but now it’s almost like I’m off to willingly have my hand severed all over again. I’m still not convinced she won’t want me killed.”

“She won’t kill you, Jaime. She’d never willingly hurt you. She only threatened you last time because she wanted to keep you by her side.”

“All it did was push me further away,” Jaime asserted.

“But she thinks you’ve changed your mind, that you’re coming back to her. She’ll be alone, just as you requested. Come on, Jaime. You know how much you mean to her.”

“How much I _used_ to mean to her, you mean? She used to be everything to me… Look how that turned out.”

“It’s Cersei. She’ll be waiting.” Tyrion effectively ended the conversation. The tunnel was darker than the one they had taken from the beach, but Tyrion’s torch still burned enough to guide their way. He had pointed out the cell from which Jaime had freed him, but Jaime didn’t particularly recognise it as anything more than just another cell. He took his word for it nevertheless. He was thankful that this tunnel was more accommodating than the earlier one; his head cleared the ceiling with plenty of room to spare, so he could focus more on what his feet were doing, trying not to trip over loose stone.

Soon, there was no need for Tyrion’s torch. They could see daylight at the end of the tunnel. Tyrion turned to Jaime. “Where do you think we are?”

“Outside, that’s for sure. I can’t tell. It’s not like either of us are like to get lost here though, brother, I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

“ _You’ll_ figure it out, Jaime. Cersei’s expecting you, but I’ll have to be a little more discrete.”

“So I’m on my own?” Jaime’s heart dropped.

“For now. I’ll make my own way to the throne room, just keep her talking until I get there.”

“Oh, for the love of gods,” Jaime sighed, running his hand through his hair nervously. “Shit. Right. Wish me luck.”

Tyrion laughed at him and Jaime shot him a glare. “It’s Cersei, for gods’ sake. Surely you can face her after you faced death!”

“We’ll see,” Jaime said, before reluctantly walking past Tyrion towards the mouth of the tunnel. When he emerged, he quickly assessed his surroundings. He was on a small narrow path, walled high on both sides; ahead of him, he easily recognised the postern gate not far from the stables. _Yes_ , he thought as he recognised the area as that near Varys’ old quarters. _That explains how he used to come and go so often_. Jaime dipped back into the tunnel to quietly inform Tyrion where the tunnel emerged, and then made his way back out into the daylight.

This time, he walked beyond the walled path, and strode out into the courtyard as if he were supposed to be there. As if he’d never left. He almost regretted not redonning his golden hand for the occasion, but he was amused to know Cersei could take no satisfaction in that. _No. She’ll be forced to look at my ugly stump for once_.

As he walked through the courtyard, he noticed a familiar looming presence staring at him from outside the small council chambers. His hand lay threateningly atop his longsword. “Ser Ilyn!” Jaime greeted, feigning pleasantry. “How wonderful it is to see you! I do hope you’re well.”

Ser Ilyn Payne, of course, did not respond. He simply stared at Jaime, his brooding expression unchanged from when Jaime had seen him last. Jaime nodded at his weapon. “You won’t be needing that today, of course. Now, I’d love to catch up, but my sweet sister awaits.” Jaime moved on quickly, fearing the silent executioner. He was just as frightened of Payne as he was The Mountain. Cersei kept some questionable acquaintances.

He walked almost jovially across the yard from that point, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face. For a moment, he could pretend he was the famed golden lion, before life got complicated. The Red Keep had been his home for many years, and he could not help but be fond of the place, despite everything he’d suffered as a result of his time in the wretched Kingsguard.

Soon, before he was ready, he approached the Great Hall. _Shit_. Jaime’s heartrate spiked. Breathing deeply, he forced himself to continue up the steps, approaching the two gold cloaks.

“Gentlemen,” Jaime greeted them, raising his stump by means of introduction. “Jaime Lannister. I’m here to see the queen.” He looked around as if to make sure nobody else was listening before continuing. “May I ask for some privacy? You know how she likes for us to speak alone, brother to sister.” They had obviously been expecting him, because they moved aside to open the heavy doors for him.

“Welcome back, Ser Jaime,” one of them said. Jaime took two shaky steps into the Great Hall.

And, then, there she was. His hurtful sister, sitting gracefully on the Iron Throne, unaware that it would most likely be the last time she would ever do so. The doors closed heavily behind him. When Jaime had imagined this moment, he had pictured her more intimidating, more threatening. Instead, all he saw was his small, fragile sister. _She doesn’t affect me anymore_.

She stood upon seeing him. She wore a red satin gown that clung to her all over. At one point, it might have turned him on; now, he looked at her with pity, disgust. “Oh, my dear Jaime!” she cried as he made her way cautiously towards her. “I knew you’d come back for me!”

“I was a fool to leave you,” he lied smoothly, keeping up the pretence. “But I’ve seen sense, my love. I’m back. I’m _yours_.” It sickened him to have to say the words aloud, but he imagined he were telling the last part to Brienne, and he found it somewhat easier.

Cersei took a few tentative steps away from the throne, before hopping off the raised dais and throwing herself into Jaime’s arms. He wrapped his arms around her unwillingly. Though he could control his thoughts, he could not control his heart. He knew a part of him would always love her. He allowed himself to inhale her scent, to hold her in his arms one last time, before he knew he really would be done with her. Finished.

She moved her head as if to kiss him, but Jaime stepped back out of her reach, pretending to assess what she was wearing. “That gown becomes you.”

It successfully distracted her; she did not try to kiss him again. “And what are you wearing?” she asked in unrestrained disgust. “You look like a bloody Stark!”

Jaime looked down at his shoddy clothing. He looked nothing like a Stark; a Stark would at least be clad in fine furs and the like. Jaime was dressed as a northman at best, but a homeless northman seemed more fitting. There was nothing redeeming about what he wore, but he’d still gladly be dressed in scruffs than the Lannister armour that Cersei would no doubt be desperate to get him back in.

“I took what I could from them.”

“Well, you’re back now. You can retake the white.”

Jaime could think of nothing less appealing than returning to his old life; donning that white cloak had ruined his life once before. But that wasn’t why he’d returned to King’s Landing.

“She’s coming for you, Cersei,” he warned, finally getting to the point. “I can get you out safely.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Cersei smiled. Jaime eyed her warily, and she narrowed those eyes which were so much like his own back at him.

“You must, Cersei. You can’t seriously believe you can win this. She has dragons!” He ran his hand through his hair. Cersei looked on in mild distaste. She had never cared for his long hair. “We can start a new life together. Just us. Essos maybe. Somewhere new, somewhere we won’t have to hide.” Jaime remembered a time when that was all he wanted; now, he was sickened by the prospect.

“Essos, Jaime? Really?” she sneered. “King’s Landing is my home. I’m the queen!”

“Cersei… think of the baby. Don’t you want to keep our child safe?”

“Oh, seven hells! There is no babe, brother! Do I look with-child to you?” She threw her hand downwards, gesturing to her slender abdomen. _I knew it_. Jaime truly had doubted it the whole time. He hadn’t made love to Cersei since before the boy had imprisoned him; for years now, all they’d had had been selfish, hateful fucks. Something in Jaime had always believed he couldn’t father a child unless there was love involved. His love for Cersei had fizzled out long ago. Now, he only had anger.

“Why lie to me?!” he demanded to know. “Why do you get off so much on making my life a misery?”

“Oh, brother, don’t be so melodramatic! The throne is _ours_ , Jaime! Now you’re home, we can rule the Seven Kingdoms side by side at last! You can be my king, my lover, my husband, out there for all to see.”

Jaime shook his head. “I won’t be your king. Let me get you out of here safely. You won’t win.”

“When did you become so craven?” she sneered down her nose at him. Her hateful side was fully apparent now. “Won’t you help me defend my city?”

“The only person he’s defending the city from is you.” Tyrion appeared suddenly from behind the Iron Throne. _The king’s door,_ Jaime thought, impressed by his brother’s wits. _Very inconspicuous._

“You!” Cersei snarled. “You dare to show your face here after murdering my son and my father, and now you think to take my brother away from me too?!”

“Another took him from you long ago, dear sister. His heart belongs elsewhere now.” Jaime wished he was wearing his golden hand so he could have slapped Tyrion around the face with it. _Why bring Brienne into this?_

Cersei turned back to her twin furiously, her eyes the colour of wildfire and just as scorching. “I knew it,” she spat. “It’s her, isn’t it? That big beast you found when you were off gallivanting in the Riverlands. The whore that returned you to me a cripple!”

“Don’t you speak of her like that!” Jaime roared, stepping towards Cersei as if to strike her. She backed away, but Jaime had only wanted to intimidate her, never hurt her. “Brienne cares more than you ever did. The only reason I’m here to help you is because she’s a better person than I am.”

“So, what? The two of you are here to do what exactly? I won’t allow my two _idiot_ brothers to tear me away from my throne. I knew _you_ were a traitor,” she glanced at Tyrion in disgust, “but you,” she looked at Jaime with a face crueller than he thought her capable of. “I thought you cared more for the Lannister name. Then again, you always were the weakest of us all. Spineless. And now what? You’ll forsake your own house, both of you, to put a Targaryen of all people on the throne?! Father would curse you.”

“Might I remind you that Father is no longer with us, sister. And I never cared much for what he had to say about me,” Tyrion glared at her.

For a moment, Cersei glared back, wordless. Then, she lunged with all the ferocity of the lioness she had always believed herself to be. The proudest Lannister of all of Tywin’s children. Jaime watched on in derisive embarrassment as his siblings toppled to the floor, grappling and scuffling like ill-bred children. Their tussle was scrappy, ungraceful. Downright pathetic. Jaime thought of his father and nearly laughed aloud. _A fitting end to the prideful House Lannister, eh, Father? Aren’t you proud of your children?_

“Murderous imp!” Cersei spat at Tyrion, as she tried to worm her hand around his neck.

“Don’t pretend you’re any better than I am,” Tyrion sneered, kicking her stomach to push her off him. He took advantage of the reprieve, allowing himself to sit up and look at her, daring her to strike again.

“I’ve never killed my own blood,” she hissed.

“No. But you’d very much like to, wouldn’t you? Come on then, darling sister, have your wicked way with me.”

Cersei accepted his invitation, lunging for him once again, but Tyrion pushed himself out of harm’s way. Cersei hit the ground with a heavy thud. She turned to Jaime, on her hands and knees. “I suppose you’ve forgotten how to protect a woman in need, then? Big Brienne can obviously look after herself. I bet my fighting doesn’t quite do it for you, does it? You obviously only get off if the woman fighting resembles a bloke! Tell me, brother, does she have a cock down there too?”

Before she’d finished speaking, Jaime had drawn Widow’s Wail out of its sheath with a murderous ferocity. Cersei was still on the floor. Jaime towered over her, the tip of his blade at her throat. “Don’t,” he simply said, incapable of translating his rage into coherent thoughts. His blood was boiling, his head pounding, his hand trembling. “I can’t believe I wasted so much time on you,” he continued, more for his own sake than for hers. “I’d kill you right now, wash my hands of you, but that woman you’ve so cruelly mocked thinks I’m a better man than that, and I won’t let her down.”

Cersei forced a laugh. “Spineless,” she repeated. “You could never kill me.” Jaime stared into her green eyes. _How did I ever look at her and see anything other than evil?_

He pulled his sword away from her. _She’s not worth any more of my time._ “I could,” he replied, “but I won’t. I’m _done_ , Cersei.”

Jaime walked away from her with a conviction, a victory. He knew then and there that she would trouble him no more. She was too far gone to be helped, and he no longer felt compelled to try. He’d finally overcome the hold she’d had on him. Cersei watched him walk away in shock, her green eyes blazing.

Jaime turned back when he heard the familiar clank of metal on metal. _Chains_. Tyrion had wrestled Cersei into manacles from behind whilst she had been distracted by Jaime’s departure. _It shouldn’t have been that easy_ , Jaime thought in disbelief. He turned back towards the king’s door as hope filled his heart.

_It’s done._

He’d played his part and, despite his doubts, they’d somehow managed to pull off their dubious plan. Now, all that stood between him and happiness was the matter of ringing some bells, and then the Seven Kingdoms would be Daenerys Targaryen’s and Brienne would be his.

He rushed to the bell tower, keeping well out of sight, and then bounded up two steps at a time, desperate for the liberation the bells would achieve. When he reached the top, he pulled on the thick rope once, twice, thrice. He had never heard a more cheerful sound in all his life. The bells signified their unlikely victory, the protection of thousands of innocent lives, and the end of his sister’s reign. For once, Jaime Lannister felt he had done the right thing.

***

Brienne of Tarth had never known a day to pass by so slowly in her life. She had been sitting in their tent all day, longing for Jaime to return to her safely. She felt like a useless housewife; it didn’t suit her. She had tried pacing the tent, though there was not much room, then she had tried humming to herself, though she was wildly out of tune, and then she had tried not to think about what Jaime was up to. But that was simply impossible.

She couldn’t help but feel that any pain he might suffer at the hands of Cersei would be her own doing. She had, after all, been the one to convince him to travel to the capital. She feared that Cersei’s hold over Jaime would steal him away from her, but she trusted him enough to know that he wanted rid of Cersei. Permanently. Brienne only hoped that he could do so without injury, without emotional distress. She knew how fragile Jaime was where his sister was concerned, and she felt guilty that she could not be there to pick up the pieces for him as soon as it was all over. She’d have to wait in this gods-forsaken tent, useless, until he returned to her.

Brienne could not comprehend how much she missed him after only a few hours apart. Since he’d shown up at Winterfell, they had spent more or less all of their free time together, first sparring together, then dining, then fighting; then loving, and kissing and holding one another. She felt as though a piece of her were missing. Brienne felt every bit a woman afraid, terrified that the man she loved might never return to her. It felt almost as though _she_ had lost her right hand.

The day had been mostly silent. The sun was high in the sky and the wind had calmed down since the morning. Their tent was a distance away from the rest of the camp so Brienne heard very little noise from the Targaryen forces. They were still in amongst them, but Jaime had wanted more privacy so they’d pitched their tent slightly further afield than the rest. She’d heard very little all day. So, when Brienne heard the faint sound of bells far in the distance, she knew she was not mistaken.

_He’s done it_.

Though she’d promised him to stay put exactly where she was, Brienne was tired of keeping promises. She needed to see him, and she knew he’d be aching to see her. She grabbed Oathkeeper, strode out of her tent with purpose, and headed for the shore. Brienne had never been one to run from a fight, and this was a fight they had already won. Jaime could not argue with her if he was not here; she was going to meet him in King’s Landing.

She watched as Drogon and Rhaegal took to the sky from a distance, Daenerys Targaryen and Jon Snow atop them, heading south; the remainder of the army were readying themselves to depart. Brienne was never a part of their army though, she was merely here to fight for Jaime, and Jaime alone. At the shore, she had a choice of three knackered rowing boats; none of them were in great shape, but she chose the largest of the three so that she’d be able to stretch her legs out. She clambered into the boat and grabbed the oars.

She could not help but think back to her time as Jaime’s captor. She had been so short with him, and he had been so cruel to her. She almost laughed aloud at the turn of events; the woman she had been back then would be disgusted and impressed with her in equal measure. The woman she had been would never have predicted she would fall in love with such a man, or that such a man could ever love her. And, yet, here they were.

She rowed with a vigor, desperate for their reunion. She’d had enough practice at rowing on the waters surrounding Tarth, so she had enough stamina to row as fast as she possibly could for the entire duration of her journey. She didn’t know exactly where she was going; she merely hoped she would figure it out when she got there. The last thing she wanted to do was row too far and miss Jaime in the process. Her mind was put at ease, though, when a small cove appeared in the distance. _That must be it_. When she rowed closer, she saw that Davos Seaworth was sitting in a boat of his own on the sand, confirming she was in the right place.

She rowed her boat so far onto the sand, and then jumped out, pulling it the rest of the way onto the beach. Her feet ended up in the water, but she could deal with that discomfort. It was nothing compared to being apart from Jaime.

“Ser Brienne,” Davos greeted her.

“Ser Davos.” She smiled at him. “I’ve come for Ser Jaime.”

He raised his eyebrows at her and smiled, gesturing with his head to the mouth of the cave. “Through there, milady. They took that rope with them.”

“Thank you, ser. You may row back if you wish, I’ve got him from here.” She hurried into the tunnel, spurred on by the knowledge that the sooner she made her way through, the sooner she’d get to Jaime. Brienne could barely see anything in the darkness of the tunnels, so she had to bend awkwardly as she followed the rope with her hands, feeling her way forward. Soon, she found herself on her hands and knees, scratching her palms on the rocky ground beneath her, but she didn’t mind. It would all be worth it in the end.

Then she heard a noise. She could see a faint light at the end of the tunnel, but she suddenly feared what might greet her there when she emerged. It was a scuffling sort of sound, and it almost echoed. She crawled faster, hoping if she moved with speed she’d give herself enough time to draw Oathkeeper to defend herself when the tunnel allowed her to stand properly again.

But then she was at the end of the tunnel, and she didn’t have to fear. Jaime looked at her at the exact same time she laid eyes on him, and she all but threw herself out of the tunnel, into an enormous, illuminated chamber. Jaime quickly closed the distance between them in a few meaningful strides, and then he was on his knees, sobbing, his face against her thighs and his arms wrapped tight around her knees.

“Oh, my love. Oh, Brienne!” He held her tighter. Brienne tried to lower herself to her own knees to meet his eyes, and he relaxed his hold to allow her to do so.

When they were at the same height, she placed her hand under his jaw so that she could look into his eyes. He looked heartbroken.

“Shh.” She tried to soothe him. “It’s alright. We’re together. It’s over.”

“She’s dead. Gone,” he murmured.

“What?!” Brienne was stunned. “How? You didn’t–”

“No. But I could have. I very nearly did.” He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. His tears had stopped now, and he reached for Brienne’s hand for support. “Tyrion managed to get her in chains. We had her. And then I went to ring the bells, and… She was gone. He strangled her, Brienne. He didn’t mean to, but… She’s gone. It’s done. Over.”

Brienne pulled him into her arms, helplessly trying to comfort him. “You’ll think me stupid for asking, but… How do you feel?”

Jaime laughed emotionlessly. “I know I should be upset, hurt, angry maybe, but I’m just _not_. I’m relieved if anything. Alive. I always thought if she died then I’d feel a part of myself die with her, but I don’t. She was never anything but my sister; I was a fool to ever think we were one and the same.”

“You were very close, Jaime. You spent almost your entire lives together, shared almost everything; it’s no wonder you believed her when she said things like that.”

“She was wrong. I’m so much more without her.” Jaime said, and Brienne knew he finally believed it.

“You are. You’re much better than she was. I’ve always believed in you.”

“I love you,” Jaime said ardently, the sudden affection in his eyes catching Brienne off-guard.

She felt herself blush. No matter how many times he told her, she still felt like a silly little girl. “I love you too,” she replied.

He reached out to pull her face closer to his own and kissed her slowly. Brienne had never known anything sweeter than his kisses, and she had never felt closer to him than in this moment. With Cersei gone, they were free to be together without worrying about what anybody else thought of them. The war was won. The throne belonged to Daenerys. Jaime had stuck to his promise, and now they were free. They could go anywhere, as long as they were together.

Brienne pulled away from him, and he frowned at her slightly. “What now?” she said. “Where do we go from here?”

She watched as his eyes began to sparkle somewhat mischievously, and she knew he was okay. He would get over Cersei’s death in time. He looked at her and a smirk gradually appeared on his face. “I suppose we could go to your beloved Tarth.”

“Only if that’s where you want to go.”

“Oh, very much so.” He could hardly hold back his grin now, though Brienne could tell he was trying very hard to keep a straight face. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask your father.”

“My father?” Brienne asked. _Oh._

“It’s only polite, isn’t it, to ask a man for his daughter’s hand in marriage?”

Brienne’s mouth was suddenly wide open. _Out of all the women in the world, Jaime Lannister wants me. A lifetime with me._

Jaime grabbed her hand, amused by her facial expression. “You _will_ marry me, won’t you, Brienne?”

“I– Yes. Of course I will!”

And so, on the floor in a chamber somewhere beneath the Red Keep, Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth agreed to commit the rest of their lives to one another. With a new beginning ahead of them, they kissed one another as though their lives depended on it.

After all they’d overcome – captivity, war, family, death, and, most of all, their very own insecurities – they knew they were made of stronger stuff than the Valyrian steel they both held at their hips.

They knew they could overcome anything as long as they had each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's that done and dusted.
> 
> I say this is the end, but chances are I might end up writing an epilogue of some kind at some point because I kind of wanted to write about their wedding.  
> We'll see.
> 
> Again, thank you all so much for reading. <3


	16. Epilogue - The Lannisters of Tarth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's officially a year since Jaime broke Brienne's heart and D&D broke my heart, so I've written a very cheesy, extremely soft and sickeningly happy epilogue to end my story with the wedding that Jaime and Brienne deserved. 
> 
> I will never get over the events of S08E04 for as long as I live.

Jaime watched as Brienne tilted her head back, eyes closed, basking in the glorious Tarth sunshine as the sapphire waves lulled their boat softly. _I knew coming here was the right thing_ , he thought, as he ran his thumb gently over the back of Brienne’s hand. He’d seen Tarth from afar once, before he knew what existed between himself and Brienne, but he’d appreciated its natural beauty even then. Now, though, with Brienne by his side, he had more or less fallen in love with the Sapphire Isle instantly, and he found himself growing ever more enchanted with it as the days passed by.

In truth, he loved Tarth via Brienne. She was the living embodiment of the isle. Beautiful in an untouched, natural way. The rolling green fields, the elegant backdrop of the rocky peaks, the endless sapphire waters; it was all simple. Effortlessly appealing. The isle was modest but charming, much like his wife-to-be. The isle’s magnificence caught Jaime off-guard, in much the same way as Brienne had done when he had first witnessed her wield a sword.

They had been on Tarth for nearly a fortnight now, and Jaime had never thought to see Brienne so laidback, so happy. She awoke every day with a fresh excitement, almost beside herself with the thrill of introducing Jaime to another part of her old island life. Jaime teased her for it daily, but he could barely conceal his own eagerness. Exploring Tarth was joyful, liberating, exhilarating; he could think of no place in the Seven Kingdoms that had ever felt more like home. Brienne had made him feel welcome as soon as they stepped onto the shore, and, though her father had eyed Jaime more than warily to begin with, he knew Lord Selwyn was slowly warming to his future goodson. Jaime had never been more optimistic about the future.

Jaime and Brienne were to be wed in two days’ time. Jaime felt that they had wasted more than enough time already and had had to stop himself from dragging her to the sept as soon as they had arrived on Tarth, but Brienne had convinced him to wait. Though Jaime felt he had waited an eternity for Brienne, he knew it would be worth the wait to have their loved ones close when they professed their love for one another before the gods. Sansa and Arya Stark were making the journey to Tarth, along with Brienne’s beloved squire Podrick Payne. They expected Gendry Baratheon, the newly-legitimised Lord of Storm’s End, to follow the youngest Stark girl too. Jaime had jokingly suggested that Brienne should invite Tormund Giantsbane to the affair as well, but Brienne had punched him in the arm and told him not to be stupid. Now that Jaime was confident in Brienne’s feelings for him, he took no greater pleasure than winding her up about the wildling, much to her annoyance.

Tyrion Lannister, having recently inherited Casterly Rock, was on his way to the isle too; he had been granted leave by Queen Daenerys Targaryen to witness her brother’s marriage. Jaime was grateful that the dragon queen had not seen fit to spite him, despite his crimes. In fact, she had been nothing but civil with him ever since she had won the throne. Jaime tried not to think too much about that fateful day in the capital; no matter how much he knew Cersei’s death was necessary, he still felt somewhat forlorn whenever he thought of her. But, when he mourned her, he mourned her as a sister and nothing more.

He knew now that what he had felt for Cersei had not, in fact, ever been love. How could it be _lov_ e, when it was so different to what he felt for Brienne? How could it be love, when he did nothing but suffer at her hands? How could it be love, when she had never given him anything in return? It couldn’t have been love. Jaime was thankful he now had something to compare it to; it had never been clearer to him that his life before Brienne had been empty, lacking. Life before Brienne had not been living at all, really.

“Isn’t this lovely?” Brienne murmured, her head still pointed up to the sky, eyes closed. Jaime marvelled at the way the sunlight illuminated her pale lashes.

“Extremely,” he agreed. “If I’d have known just how lovely it was, I would have demanded you bring me straight here instead of King’s Landing all those years ago.”

Brienne opened her eyes and looked at him in mocking disapproval. “We’d made a promise to Lady Catelyn,” she said, “and you were never going to see that promise go unfulfilled. Besides, you wouldn’t have wanted to come to Tarth with _me_ back then.”

“I was oblivious to your charms back then.” Jaime smiled lazily. “I can’t believe it took us so long to realise what we were, what we’ve always been.”

“Too long,” Brienne laughed. “It might have taken many years, but we have many more years ahead of us.”

“A lifetime.”

Brienne hummed in contentment. “I like the sound of that.”

“Good,” Jaime said, “because there’s no backing out now.” He smirked at her, knowing full well that she was just as committed to their future as he was. He had never been more certain of anything.

“My father has arranged for me to have my gown properly fitted on the morrow,” Brienne said in obvious distaste.

“And, evidently, you’re thrilled by the prospect,” Jaime joked. “Wear your armour if you’d be more comfortable, I don’t mind.”

Brienne rolled her eyes at him. “It’s a wedding, Jaime, not a tourney. I don’t mind wearing a gown for one day of my life; I just hate the thought of someone having to take my measurements and having to dress me.”

“You won’t mind when I’m undressing you after the ceremony though, will you?” Jaime smirked at her, his eyebrows raised.

Brienne laughed softly, breaking their eye contact in her embarrassment. “No,” she muttered, as Jaime watched her cheeks begin to glow.

“What am I to do while you’re with the seamstress?”

“Explore the isle, go for a swim, learn a dance… I don’t know, Jaime, you’ll have to find a way to entertain yourself. I’m sure you can cope without me for a few hours.”

“I’ll miss you,” Jaime said in earnest.

Brienne smiled at him fondly. “I’ll miss you too, but it could be worse. I’m sure you’ll find something to keep you occupied.”

“I’d rather have you to keep me occupied.” Jaime needed to close the distance between them, so he stood, rather unsteadily, to move towards her. He wobbled slightly as the boat rocked, but he regained his balance and leant down to plant a kiss on her lips.

“Move over,” he commanded in a gentle tone. When she obliged, he sat down so that they were sitting side by side, his thigh pressed up against her own, and he put his right arm around her back. Brienne leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, and they enjoyed the moment in silence, with naught but the gentle waves to disturb them.

***

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Brienne murmured, trying to escape Jaime’s tight embrace. When he held her closer, she gave in and kissed him softly for a minute or two before he reluctantly released her.

“Don’t have too much fun without me,” Jaime said, pouting like an upset child.

“I somehow doubt there’ll be any fun involved,” Brienne replied, laughing at the childish disappointment on Jaime’s face. “Go and explore the island, enjoy your last remaining day as a single man.”

She kissed him one last time, and then she was gone. Jaime rolled onto Brienne’s side of the bed, his face pressed against her pillow. _Tomorrow_ , he thought almost giddily as he inhaled her comforting scent. _W_ _e’ll finally be man and wife_. Jaime could not remember a time in his life where he had been so consistently content, and he cherished the fact that this was his life now. A simple, relaxed, happy life with Brienne was all he could ask for. They had overcome so much to reach this point, and, now, nothing stood in their way. Not even the Evenstar.

As he lay on their bed, Jaime recalled how anxious he had been upon stepping onto the shores of Tarth for the first time, his hand in Brienne’s. Lord Selwyn Tarth was much more intimidating than he had expected. _Of course he’d be tall_ , Jaime had thought. _How could he be anything but tall with a daughter like Brienne?_ The Evenstar had looked Jaime up and down with immediate disdain, but Jaime had expected nothing less. What man would be pleased for their daughter to return home betrothed to a man who had killed his own king? Surprisingly, Lord Selwyn had reached for Jaime’s left hand amicably enough, and pulled Brienne into a warm embrace. The man was polite enough at least to feign pleasantry for his daughter’s sake if nothing else. Jaime wanted to earn his trust, though, to earn his approval.

The three of them had dined privately that evening, eating mostly in a polite silence. Jaime nearly opened his mouth to break the silence on multiple occasions, but thought better of it every time. He wanted Brienne to start the conversation, to give Jaime an opportunity to address her father, but she seemed rather unwilling to do so. For the first time in their relationship, Jaime believed Brienne to be ashamed of him. He quickly felt guilty for thinking that; he knew she was not ashamed of him, but rather unsure as to how to act in a room with her father and her lover. This was as new to her as it was to Jaime. Though their dinner ended cordially enough, Jaime knew he was no closer to Lord Selwyn’s approval. And, so, the next day, he sought him out privately, intending to correct that.

“Lord Selwyn,” Jaime had said, doing everything he could to muster the charming smile he’d used to get away with almost anything in his golden lion days. “I can imagine nothing would make my future wife happier than if the two of us were to get along. What do you say we spend some time together? Might I be bold enough to ask you to show me some of your beautiful island?”

Selwyn had looked at him with a reluctance, but had agreed nonetheless. Jaime had not doubted that the Evenstar would honour his guest’s wishes; he was a noble man, after all. “Of course, Ser Jaime,” he had agreed. “Is there any place in particular you’d like me to show you?”

“I must admit I’m so far unfamiliar with the isle… Perhaps you could take me somewhere that means something to Lady Brienne?”

Selwyn had nodded. “I’ll have the horses saddled. We can leave after we’ve broken our fast.”

“Excellent.” Jaime had smiled at him. “I’ll look forward to it.”

Brienne had joined them to eat, and was surprised when Jaime and Lord Selwyn both rose to leave, kissing her on the cheek one after the other. She had looked to Jaime with a quizzical expression on her face, to which Jaime oddly winked at her. Brienne’s look of confusion had quickly changed to one of growing suspicion. Jaime knew she was fearful of what her father might have to say to him, but he was a man grown and he was used to the abuse that came with being a kingslayer.

“Your father has very kindly offered to show me some of the island.” He took her hand in his, squeezing it gently as if to reassure her that he could handle himself. Brienne looked as though she wished to join them, to set her father straight about any misconceptions he held about Jaime, but she had nodded her head and squeezed Jaime’s hand in return. She knew the two of them would get on for her sake if nothing else.

“Well, I hope the two of you have a pleasant ride out,” Brienne said, smiling at her father.

Although Jaime knew he should have perhaps felt more nervous being alone with his future goodfather for the first time, there was something calming about riding through the magnificent greenery. Invigorating. He felt as though the earth called to him personally, the life within the flora and fauna giving him his own new lease of life. He had never breathed cleaner, crisper air.

“It’s gorgeous.” Jaime turned to Selwyn who rode to his right. Though he’d originally planned to dish out the compliments in order to butter the Evenstar up, Jaime was genuinely astounded by the scenery and the praise came to him quite effortlessly. He’d been haunted by green his whole life; his nightmares frequently revisited the Mad King’s obsession with wildfire, and, he knew that, because her eyes were the same as his own, he would never forget the controlling gaze of Cersei’s green eyes. Here, though, Jaime Lannister appreciated the calming, comforting allure of the island’s greenery. He better understood Brienne’s mostly laidback, reserved demeanour.

“It is,” Lord Selwyn had replied. “I suppose it’s naught like the Rock or King’s Landing. You’ll find life on Tarth to be much different to what you’re used to, I’m sure.”

“Different is good,” Jaime asserted. “I’m ready for something new.”

“You are sure my daughter is the change you’re seeking?”

“My lord, Brienne has been the most constant presence in my life for many years now. It’s nothing new that I can depend on her,” Jaime stated. “I’m well aware that I’m not the most desirable suitor for any woman, especially your daughter, but, if there’s one thing I ask you to believe of me, it’s that I value Brienne more than anyone and anything. I would never hurt her. I love her deeply.”

“I can see that.” Jaime had been surprised at Lord Selwyn’s words. “I’ll admit I was less than thrilled to see my daughter arrive home with such an infamous man by her side, but I cannot deny her happiness, not now I’ve seen the way she looks at you.”

Jaime had smiled to himself. It was a far cry from approval, but it was a step in the right direction. Selwyn had slowed his horse to a canter, and Jaime mimicked him as they turned down a narrow path to the right. He felt bramble bush branches bristle on the exposed skin just above where his ankles met his calves on both legs before they entered an enormous clearing, revealing the most breathtaking meadow Jaime had ever laid his eyes on.

The field was a vibrant cacophony of every colour of the rainbow, delicately painted onto the soft textures of flowers which sat in stark contrast to the rough, prominent edges of the imposing but marvellous hills in the distance. Jaime watched in quiet appreciation as the bluebells and daffodils and tulips and thistles that lined the meadow floor swayed gently in the breeze, as he breathed in the scent of pollen and fresh, countryside air. The sound of a nearby trickling brook had Jaime sighing in peaceful admiration of his surroundings. Jaime had never been more immediately entranced by a location in his life.

“My daughter often came here,” the Evenstar began. “It’s where she learnt how to wield a sword. She’d begged and better begged Ser Goodwin, our master-at-arms, to train her. Of course, I’d have been blind not to have noticed my only daughter’s interest in such an unladylike activity, but it was not until I rode to this very meadow and caught the two of them sparring that I realised how committed she was. She’s always been a strong one, my Brienne. I never thought to see her married in truth, Ser Jaime, though I tried thrice to find her a suitor.” He turned to Jaime as if to gauge his reaction. When Jaime remained quiet at his side, still silently taking in the meadow, he continued. “Forgive me, but I find it difficult to understand what attracted my daughter to you in the first place.”

Jaime looked to Selwyn in amusement. “I’m quite a catch,” he joked, but the smile quickly left his face when he realised it was most definitely not the time to jape. “I understand very much where you’re coming from, my lord, but Brienne and I have helped each other through a lot; not all of it is public knowledge. It’s hard to describe how we got to where we are now, but I can try.

“When we first met, we were competitive, antagonistic. In truth, we thrived off our quarrelling. I never thought to know Brienne the way I do now, and, I assure you, she had no intention of loving me either. It took us both by surprise, but it… just happened, I guess. Slowly, though. Very slowly.”

Lord Selwyn said nothing, but he looked at Jaime as if to tell him to continue. So he did.

“When we met, I was her prisoner. She was charged to deliver me back to my father in exchange for Lady Stark’s daughters. I assume you know that much, at least?” Selwyn nodded. Jaime continued, “On the way, we were halted. We were both taken as prisoners, and we found a common ground of sorts. I lost my hand, and Brienne saved my life for the first time, encouraging me to eat, to keep going, when I wanted nothing more than to succumb to a slow death. I quickly came to admire her honour and her loyalty. I’ve known many knights in my lifetime, my lord, but never anyone as just as your daughter.”

“She’s always been a good woman. I’m proud of her,” Selwyn said, before gesturing for Jaime to resume.

“Somewhere along the line, her attitude towards me changed. At first I think it was pity that drove her to look after me, alongside her intention of returning me to King’s Landing safely, but it became a genuine concern. She cared for my wellbeing. She looked at me like nobody ever had. She saw Jaime Lannister, not the confused boy who slew his king. I’ll never forget the way that made me feel. But, just as we became friends, if that’s what you could call it, Roose Bolton allowed me to return to King’s Landing, leaving Brienne behind.”

“The bear.”

“The bear,” Jaime repeated in surprise. “She told you, I assume?”

“I wouldn’t say I know what happened in detail, but I received a raven from my daughter when she left King’s Landing with your sword. It was the first I’d heard of your companionship; though, I have to admit, I had no idea how close the two of you were until you arrived on my island.”

“The two of us had no idea until we survived our battle with death.” Jaime laughed, and the first hints of a smile formed on Lord Selwyn’s face. “When she left King’s Landing, I gave her the sword you mentioned, and she named it Oathkeeper. She owed me nothing, and yet she set out to find Lady Catelyn’s eldest daughter to fulfil the oath on my behalf just as much as her own. I never thought to see her again, but she never really left my mind for more than a day at a time, even though we went years without seeing or hearing from one another. I always wondered where she’d got to.”

Jaime trailed off for a moment as he realised he was speaking the truth. He had not considered how much Brienne had meant to him at that point, though it was obvious even then. He had no idea why it had taken him until the dragonpit to acknowledge his feelings towards her. He continued, wanting to convince Lord Selwyn of his love.

“Brienne has helped me in more ways than I could ever describe to you. She made me question my morality, but she also made me value my own character for the first time in my life, in spite of my many mistakes. She convinced me to leave King’s Landing, to forsake my family, to fight for the living, and then she saved my life multiple times again when I arrived at Winterfell. She vouched for my honour before Queen Daenerys, and she slew an undead dragon to protect me. I will be forever indebted to her. Physically and mentally, she has saved my life more times than I can count.

“I know that the words of a kingslayer won’t mean much to you, my lord, but I love your daughter very much, and I know that she loves me in return. I hope that we can be friends in time, if only for her sake.”

“I don’t doubt your love for her,” said the Evenstar softly. “I sense there are parts of your story you purposefully left unsaid, but I won’t pry. I trust my daughter’s instincts. I’m pleased she can marry for love. I’m pleased you found one another.”

Jaime had returned to Brienne with a spring in his steps. He knew he and Lord Selwyn would get on in time, and he had nothing but time ahead of him to forge that companionship with his future goodfather.

It was as Jaime recalled his words to Lord Selwyn that day that he suddenly came to an inspired decision as to how he could spend his time whilst Brienne had her gown fitted.

***

The sun was high in the sky when Jaime heard the galloping of hooves behind him. He was sitting in the meadow Lord Selwyn had first shown him, comforted by the warm breeze, and he turned just in time to see Brienne arrive on horseback.

“All sorted, my love?” he asked, as he rose to help her dismount.

“Yes,” Brienne replied, although she rolled her eyes.

Jaime laughed at her, bringing her hand to his lips when her feet were both firmly planted on the ground. “I’m sure you’ll look astonishing in it.”

She gave him a pointed stare as if to admonish him, but she couldn’t do anything to stop the blush from appearing on her cheeks. Jaime knew she appreciated the compliment despite her attempt to disguise it.

“What are you doing?” she asked, looking to the place he had vacated. He had flattened the grass where he had been sitting, so the roll of parchment he had left there was very much on show.

Suddenly embarrassed, Jaime ducked his head. “Oh, erm– it’s– it’s silly, really. It’s nothing.”

Brienne brought her hand to his chin, forcing him to look into her magnificent eyes. He saw a little smile on her face, as if she were amused by his uncharacteristic embarrassment. “I’ve never seen you like this before. What is it?”

Jaime knew she would not back down until he gave her an answer. “I, erm – I was thinking about when your father and I–”

“My father?” Brienne laughed, confused.

“When he brought me here the morning after we arrived, I realised something.” Brienne raised her eyebrows, so Jaime continued. “You got to sing my praises, undeservedly, in front of everybody at Winterfell. I guess I wanted to do something similar for you.”

“I don’t expect you to–”

“I know you don’t. But I wanted to. I’ve never really told you how much you’ve done for me… I was going to do it tomorrow once we were wed, but–”

“I’d rather you did it when it’s just the two of us… I don’t want a fuss.”

“It’s a wedding, Brienne. The whole day is a fuss.”

She rolled her eyes again. “You can read it if you really must,” Jaime offered, a little reluctantly.

“No,” she replied, drawn to the unusual crimson on his cheeks. “I want you to read it to me.”

Jaime ducked his head, breaking their gaze. “It’s nothing– it’s not very good. It’s silly, truly.”

“Jaime. Read it.”

“Don’t mock me,” he pleaded, as he turned to retrieve the parchment from where he had left it.

Brienne looked at him expectantly, and Jaime felt his heart in his stomach. _Why did you ever think this would be a good idea?_ He cursed himself.

“I’ve never–” Jaime started, before Brienne shoved him lightly in the arm.

“Just. Read.” Brienne commanded, laughing. The look on her face suggested she was about to rip it out of Jaime’s hand if he didn’t start.

“Alright,” Jaime muttered. He was mortified. He had no idea what had possessed him to attempt poetry in the first place, but Brienne knew about it now, and she was going to hear it or read it one way or another. _Gods_ , he thought, _I’m more flowery than fucking Loras Tyrell._

He looked at her with fear in his eyes, but, when she squeezed his stump, he knew he had nothing to be afraid of. Brienne was not exactly accustomed to romantic gestures, and he knew she would never mock him for trying.

_You are more than your armour._

_You are more than my sword._

_You are more than I deserve._

He chanced a look at Brienne, but, if she found it amusing, she hid it from him well. He continued; his voice was shaky. He had never opened up to anyone the way he was about to, and he had never felt more vulnerable.

_You are my right hand,_

_My warrior maid,_

_My gods made flesh._

_You are the feelings I left untouched for too long,_

_The righter of my wrongs._

_You are the reassurance I always longed for,_

_My Florian of the songs._

_You are the sapphire waters that now guide me home._

_You are my waking dream._

_You are the long, green path that lines the shore,_

_Enchanting as the babbling stream._

_You brought me to your home, my love,_

_To your father, your old life._

_You brought me a new beginning,_

_A fresh start._

_I love you, my darling wife._

Jaime closed his eyes as he waited for Brienne to say something in response. “I haven’t had chance to perfect–”

“Don’t,” Brienne cut him off with an urgent kiss. When she pulled away, leaving Jaime breathless, she asked, “You wrote that for me?”

Jaime looked away, unsure of her reaction.

“Thank you,” she murmured, tilting his chin to encourage him to look at her. When he finally met her gaze, he saw tears swimming in the sapphire of her eyes. “Nobody’s ever done anything like that for me before. It was very thoughtful of you to go to such effort for me.”

“I wanted to try to sum up my feelings for you,” Jaime dismissed her words. “I missed the mark somewhat; I’ve never been the most eloquent. It was hard to translate what I feel into words but I had to try.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” Brienne repeated, teary-eyed. She threw her arms around his neck. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Jaime wound his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder.

“You were going to read that aloud in front of our guests tomorrow?”

Jaime laughed and he felt Brienne’s arms tighten around his neck in response, holding him closer.

“I had intended to, but I think we both know I would have destroyed all evidence of it had you not ambushed me.”

“I didn’t ambush you,” Brienne returned, sighing wistfully. She pulled back just far enough to kiss his cheek. “Who knew Jaime Lannister could be so soft?”

“Don’t ever speak a word of this to anyone,” he threatened playfully, before kissing her again, effectively silencing the laughter escaping her lips. “You mean everything to me, do you know that? I can’t wait to be your husband.”

“Tomorrow,” Brienne said, smiling. Jaime could not help himself from drawing her closer and kissing her once again.

***

When Jaime and Brienne finally made their way back to Evenfall, Brienne nearly launched herself off her horse whilst it was still running. Jaime laughed, entertained by her eagerness at first, but he was no slower off his own horse when he realised why she was so excited. Their guests had arrived, and they were standing outside Evenfall as if waiting for the happy couple to show up.

Sansa Stark flew at Brienne, her red hair streaming behind her as they wrapped their arms tightly around each other. Jaime could not see Brienne’s facial expression from where he stood, but, from the way she held Sansa close and the way she trembled, he knew she was emotional. In fact, even Jaime felt a surprising fondness for the Stark girl; he was pleased to find her safe and well. He smiled at her and she returned it over Brienne’s shoulder, but it was cut short when Pod stepped into Jaime’s field of vision.

“Congratulations, ser!” he said, offering Jaime his left hand. Jaime ignored his hand, instead choosing to pull Pod into a tight embrace of his own.

“Thank you, Podrick. I’m glad you could make it,” Jaime replied, patting him on the back through their hug.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, ser.”

“Jaime, please.”

“Jaime.” Pod smiled as he released him, turning to Brienne who had finally let go of Sansa.

“Milady–”

“Oh, Pod! Thank you for taking care of Lady Sansa for me,” Brienne interrupted whatever Pod had been about to say, pulling him into her arms. “I’ve missed you a great deal.”

Pod said nothing for a moment, and Jaime could tell he was somewhat emotional. “Likewise,” he eventually managed.

“I’m so glad you’re here. Welcome to Tarth!”

“We have a lot to catch up on, I believe,” Pod said. They had not seen Pod since leaving Winterfell for King’s Landing over two months ago, and a lot had happened since.

“You can fill me in over supper,” Brienne suggested. They continued to speak to one another, but Jaime was distracted when he saw a small figure emerge through the doors of Evenfall clutching a package of some kind.

“Oh. Why didn’t anyone tell me they were back?”

Tyrion.

“Brother!” Jaime shouted, but Tyrion approached Brienne first. Jaime watched as they hugged each other warmly, Brienne having to stoop slightly to meet him.

Though Tyrion tried to keep his voice down, he’d never been one for being discrete. “Thank you for looking out for my brother, Brienne. I know what a shock it must have been for him. How’s he been?”

Brienne managed to control the volume of her own voice much more expertly, but Jaime was still standing close enough to overhear. “He’s been good, much better than I expected. I’ve never seen him happier,” she murmured to Tyrion.

“You know I can hear you both, right?” Jaime smirked at them. “Of course I’ve never been happier, I’m marrying you,” he said to Brienne. He looked to Tyrion. “I’m good, brother. Truly. You did us all a favour in a way.”

Tyrion smirked at him. “Who knew? I’m glad you’re happy. Congratulations to the two of you!” The Lannisters embraced for a moment, before Tyrion pulled away and offered Jaime the wrapped parcel he had been carrying. “I believe you’ll be needing this.”

Jaime raised his eyebrows, somewhat confused, before tearing at the thin, brown paper at the edge. Inside, Jaime could just about make out a crimson cloak with gold detailing; Lannister colours for a Lannister bride. “Thank you.” Jaime smiled at Tyrion who waved away his thanks.

“You could thank me over a cup of wine or two,” Tyrion joked, and Jaime gestured for him to re-enter the keep.

Jaime briefly nodded to greet Arya Stark and Gendry Baratheon who stood beside her talking to Brienne, before putting his arms on Brienne’s waist from behind and whispering, “I’ll just be inside, my love,” before kissing her shoulder.

It was not long before their guests were all seated around a long table, with Lord Selwyn sitting at its head. Before they tucked into the food in front of them, he raised a goblet to Brienne and Jaime, and the rest of the guests followed suit. Jaime squeezed Brienne’s thigh beneath the table as she sat beside him, and she turned to grin at him, before they joined their guests in eating.

Everybody tired quite soon after finishing, which was unsurprising considering their guests had been travelling for some time to get there. Brienne made the first move to leave, eager to get some sleep before the big day they had ahead of them. Turning to Jaime, she said, “Will you walk me to my chamber?”

“Of course,” he acquiesced, and bid their guests a good night. Although Lord Selwyn had no problem with Jaime and Brienne sharing a chamber before they were wed, Brienne felt that they should spend the night before their wedding apart. Jaime wasn’t pleased by the prospect, but he knew it was the last night of his life that he’d ever have to spend away from her. When they stopped outside her door, he kissed her slowly, trying to show her every ounce of love he had for her. When he felt her start to get carried away kissing him back, he pulled away.

He smiled at the disappointment on her face. “Your rules, not mine.” She laughed but did not argue. “Dream of me, my love. I’ll see you in the sept,” he promised, kissing her forehead before turning to head to the chamber that was his for the night.

“I love you,” she called after him.

He turned back around, incapable of stopping himself from going in for a final kiss. “I love you too.”

“Tomorrow,” he said with more finality. Brienne smiled as she entered her chamber and closed the door in his face.

***

Jaime Lannister was surprised to awaken to sun streaming in through his windows where he had forgotten to draw the drapes. He had not expected to sleep last night in all the excitement, and, yet, he must have drifted off at some point, and now he felt as though he were behind schedule. A knock on the door made him sit up in bed, and then Tyrion walked in carrying a tray of bread and fruit.

“Morning,” Tyrion greeted, before placing the tray on Jaime’s lap and climbing onto the bed beside him.

“What’s all this?” Jaime asked groggily.

“Wedding breakfast. I’ve no gifts to give, I’m afraid, so the food and my presence will have to do,” Tyrion teased.

“I didn’t expect anything,” Jaime replied, reaching for a piece of the warm bread.

“How are you feeling? Nervous?”

“No. Just ready. I’ve been ready for this for a long time.”

Tyrion smiled at him before picking up a piece of bread of his own. “I’m proud of you, Jaime.”

“Proud?”

“Yes. I never thought you’d find the strength to move past Cersei, but I was wrong. I can see you’re much happier than ever with Brienne.”

“I am,” Jaime said, somewhat annoyed that their sister had been brought up on his wedding day of all days.

“Good,” Tyrion replied, and they said no more on the matter. Instead, Tyrion joked about his time so far back on Casterly Rock, and Jaime laughed at him, thankful for some normality. Although he’d told Tyrion he had no nerves, he had been lying. Of course he was nervous. How could he not be? He knew the nerves would disappear the moment he laid eyes on Brienne, but, until then, he knew he would worry that she might change her mind.

When they had finished eating, Tyrion helped Jaime dress, fastening the golden buckles on his red gambeson for him. A golden lion was embroidered over Jaime’s heart, and the seams were sewn together with a golden thread. When he had his sword belt fastened securely around his hips, Tyrion guided Jaime to the looking glass so he could see himself.

Jaime snorted at his appearance and Tyrion looked to him in confusion. “I’ve never looked more like a Lannister. If Father would have had his way, I might have looked like this every day.”

He looked at himself more closely, and he pulled at the hem of the gambeson, pulling it down to straighten out a crease. Finally, he nodded. “Do you think she’ll want to marry me looking like this?”

It was Tyrion’s turn to laugh. “Don’t be silly, brother. She’d marry you in anything.”

Jaime took a shaky breath and turned to him. “Should we make our way down then?”

Tyrion nodded.

When they approached the sept, Jaime noticed the towering figure of Lord Selwyn walking towards them. “Ser Jaime,” he greeted him warmly. “Perhaps I could have a word.”

Jaime looked to Tyrion who nodded. “I’ll leave you to it, brother, Lord Selwyn,” he said, before continuing towards the doors of the sept.

Jaime gestured to a wall, as if to suggest they might move to one side to talk, and the Evenstar nodded. “What is it you wish of me?” Jaime asked when they were off the footpath.

“Nothing.” Lord Selwyn shook his head. Instead, he extended an arm to Jaime’s shoulder in an unusually familiar way. “I just wanted to welcome you into my family. I know you’ll do whatever it takes to keep my daughter happy. Thank you for bringing her home to me, Ser Jaime.”

“Jaime, please. But thank _you_ , my lord, for accepting me on your island, in your home. I’m honoured to be part of your family.”

“Call me Selwyn.” The Evenstar smiled at Jaime, moving his hand from his shoulder to pat him on the back gently. “Good luck,” he said, before he moved past Jaime in order to collect Brienne from her chambers. Jaime continued into the sept.

He would never tell Brienne, but Jaime zoned out on more than one occasion during the initial prayers in the sept. The septon did nothing but drone on and on and on, and Jaime had no recollection of what had been said. He only knew that his palm was clammy, and his heartrate was unsteady. He alternated between rubbing the end of his stump nervously with his left hand, and grasping the hilt of Widow’s Wail, desperate for Brienne to finally make her entrance.

When she did, Jaime’s jaw nearly hit the floor. He had never laid eyes upon anything more enchanting in his life. Though Brienne was not fond of gowns, this one had been made for her – quite literally – and it showed off her features better than anything he had seen her dressed in before. The soft cream gown was to the floor, modest but alluring. It was much more elegant than anything Jaime had imagined for her, and the shallow neckline, which only just managed to conceal her scars from the bearpit, was adorned with real sapphires; the bodice clung to her flatteringly.

Her eyes were sparkling, but Jaime could not tell if it was the glittery reflection of the sapphires or whether she had tears in her eyes. The closer she got to him, he realised it was a bit of both. At her hips, Brienne wore her swordbelt. _Obviously_ , Jaime thought. He had expected nothing less. She clutched Oathkeeper’s hilt just as tightly as she clutched Lord Selwyn’s hand, as she tried her hardest not to trip over the length of her gown. Just above where her swordbelt hung from her hips, wrapped around her waist, a band of blue, red and gold shapes had been delicately embroidered.

When they were finally together in front of the septon, Lord Selwyn silently placed his daughter’s hand in Jaime’s, effectively beginning their union. _Mine_ , he thought. _She’s finally mine_. He smiled at her softly when she finally met his gaze, and she looked at him unusually coyly beneath her golden lashes.

“You’re mesmerising,” he whispered to her, encouraging the blush he loved so much onto her face. She broke eye contact with him in embarrassment, and he took the time to study the detail of her dress more closely. From a distance, he had not been able to determine what exactly had been embroidered around her waist. He felt his heart quicken when took note of the colourful stitching up close. The red was a series of sunbursts and the blue marked stars for House Tarth. The gold was a series of lion heads for House Lannister. He fought the urge to grab her by the waist, where she had already physically accepted his name, and kiss her, but he opted instead to squeeze the hand she held onto tightly.

“Okay?” he whispered. Brienne nodded, and the septon took it as a sign to proceed.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection,” he said, nodding to Jaime. Jaime nodded in return, and reached forward to untie the knot on the Tarth cloak Brienne bore on her shoulders. He was thankful she had not double-knotted it, and it slid gracefully down her back. Jaime passed it to one side, where Tyrion was waiting to receive it, and he retrieved the crimson and gold number that Tyrion had brought for him. It was newly made; Jaime could tell it was not the threadbare thing Cersei had forced Joffrey to cloak poor Margaery Tyrell in.

Brienne helpfully reached out to grab one side of the cloak, holding it against her right shoulder as Jaime stepped behind her to wrap the other side over her other shoulder, grateful that she had recognised his need for assistance. When he was satisfied it would not fall from her shoulders, Jaime repositioned himself by her side and retook her hand.

“Perhaps my lady should return the favour,” he joked aloud, although he had not intended for everybody to hear it. Their guests laughed and Brienne blushed, glaring at him playfully. The septon gave Jaime a blank look, and Jaime decided his jokes would be lost on the humourless man.

The septon raised his hands as if to demand the sept’s attention once again. “My lords. My ladies. We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul. Now and forever.”

Jaime mouthed the word “forever” to Brienne, and she beamed at him, tightening her grasp on his hand. The septon stepped forward, and knotted a ribbon around their joined hands in the age-old tradition.

“Let it be known that Brienne of House Tarth and Jaime of House Lannister are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.” Jaime squeezed Brienne’s hand. “In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity.”

Jaime could not stop himself from swaying on his feet in unashamed excitement as the ribbon was removed from their hands. Brienne noticed his boyish grin and smiled at him fondly.

“Look upon each other and say the words,” the Septon instructed.

Jaime and Brienne both tightened their grip on one another simultaneously, before speaking in union the words that countless lovers had spoken before them.

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger.”

“I am hers and she is mine,” Jaime recited, as Brienne spoke the bridal version of the words, before they both continued together.

“From this day, until the end of my days.”

Brienne’s eyes were aflame with a tenderness unlike anything Jaime had ever seen. He had never felt anything as certain in his life. Now, all that stood between them and a happy wedded life together was a kiss. Jaime thought he could handle that.

He smirked at Brienne, before releasing her hand and placing his own on her waist, finally, pulling her flush against him. “With this kiss,” he declared, “I pledge my love.”

And then he kissed her with everything he had, wanting to convey every unsaid thought and feeling he’d harboured for her over the years into a singular kiss. She kissed him back with just as much passion, and, as their guests applauded their union, Jaime finally had everything he had ever wanted in his arms.

The rest of the day passed by in a blur, and Jaime found himself being accosted by different guests and spending very little time with his new wife. Whenever he saw her speaking to someone else across the room, he looked at her until she met his eyes, and they shared a smile. All he wanted was to hold her to his side, but he allowed her to enjoy the company of their guests. They ate, and danced, and ate some more, with plenty of wine and ale flowing. The help at Evenfall had really pulled all the stops out to make their day special, but Jaime was more than ready for the night to hurry on its way.

Eventually, Jaime had had enough of talking to his brother, so he bid him goodnight, heading instead to his new goodfather. “Selwyn,” he said, holding his hand out. Selwyn took it. “I think it’s time my wife and I retired for the evening. Thank you for all your efforts today.”

“You’re welcome, Jaime,” he smiled. “I’m pleased to have gained a son today. Rest well.”

Jaime walked away, certain that there would be very little _rest_ ahead of him this evening.

“Come, my love,” Jaime murmured into his wife’s ear when he reached where she was standing by the food table alone, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. “I think it’s time we leave our guests to continue their celebrations without us. We have a marriage to consummate and heirs to conceive.”

Brienne turned within the circle of his arms, raising an eyebrow at him. “Heirs?”

“Oh, yes. We’re not going to stop until we have a whole army of babes,” he stated with a straight face.

Brienne placed her hands on his shoulders, leaning in to kiss him briefly before laughing. Jaime had never heard a more magical sound.

“I suppose we’d better make a start, then, husband.”


End file.
